


This Trailer Park Is a Shithole but Goddammit, It's Home

by waketosleep



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Big Bang Challenge, Canada, Criminal AU, Gen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Trailer Park Boys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is never going to get out of Sunnyvale Trailer Park but he's not that bothered; his main goal in life is to find a scheme that'll let him and Bones retire young with the least possible amount of work, and if he can keep from violating his parole at the same time, even better.</p><p>It would be a great plan if not for the interference of that jackass with the face tattoos looking for a piece, the nosy trailer park supervisor trying to send him back to jail and the new cop in town who seems strangely invested in Jim's future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Trailer Park Is a Shithole but Goddammit, It's Home

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: this is a Trailer Park Boys fusion. If you're not familiar with Trailer Park Boys: 1. it's a Canadian mockumentary sitcom about some people who live in a trailer park outside Halifax and it's all on Netflix, so go watch it, but keep in mind it is highly NSFW; 2. you're going to see a lot of swearing, ignorance, casual drug use, moral corruption of youth and rampant small-time criminality in this story. You'll know pretty fast if you're going to need to hit your back-button, I think.
> 
> But as the great poet Jay Z once said, "Say hooray to the bad guys."
> 
> This fic is for Trek Big Bang 2013. [The mix was by me](http://waketosleep.dreamwidth.org/75515.html#cutid1) (with bonus mix art by @Jillus); [the cover art was by **mdevile**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1044295), one of the only people who I think could properly capture the... spirit... of this story in visual media. Canadian blue collar kids representing.

"Smokes," said Jim. "And two Hot Rods, and uh, all the money in the till."

"Fuck's sake, Jim, you just robbed us last week. Why can't you just pay for your smokes?"

"Look, bud, we can be civilized about this or I can pull out my gun," said Jim, patting the pocket of his hoodie. "It's up to you."

The till had almost sixty bucks in it, and Jim got three packs of smokes. A good haul, all together. He liked this gas station.

***

When Jim got back to the park, Sulu and Chekov were standing in the road outside Bones' trailer, arguing about something.

"Afternoon, boys," said Jim.

"Word up, J-Rock," said Sulu.

"I told you not to fucking call me that," he said, pointing at Sulu. "Smokes," he told Chekov, beckoning. "Give 'em up."

"You just fucking bought some, man, I can see them in that bag," complained Sulu as Chekov handed over two smokes. Jim tucked one behind his ear for later.

"I'm saving those," he said, lighting the smoke in his mouth. "Fuck off, I gotta talk to Bones."

***

_"Yeah, man, we've known Jim for like, I dunno."_

_"His family moved to the park like twenty, twenty-five years ago."_

_"Shit, really? Anyway, we know him pretty well."_

_"What? Yeah, he's always like that to us. Thinks we're idiots or something, I guess."_

_"And he's always taking my cigarettes. I give him like two packs a week, I bet."_

_"He's real smart though. And cool."_

_"Yeah, Jim's awesome. But sometimes I can't understand him."_

_"Speak for yourself, dude. When you get drunk or baked you sound like that dude in the hat from Rocky and Bullwinkle. Boris!"_

_"Fuck off."_

***

"But," Sulu started, but Jim was already on Bones' porch by then. The door was unlocked, which saved some time.

"What the fuck do you want," was Bones' greeting when Jim found him in the living room; he was watching the curling.

"Hey, Bones. I have a business venture for you."

"No, you don't," said Bones, sipping on his ever-present rye and coke.

"I actually do," said Jim, "and it's an awesome one. I need two hundred bucks."

"Fuck off."

"I need two hundred bucks," Jim repeated, louder, "as venture capital."

"For what?" Bones asked. He hadn't turned away from the TV yet.

"I'm gonna turn it into a grand and then I'm gonna buy some hydro equipment."

"And how are you going to turn two hundred bucks into a grand, Jim?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to." Jim crossed in front of the TV to sit on Bones' fuzzy, floral-print brown couch. "So come on. I'll pay you back four hundred bucks when I get my first crop sold."

"When'll that be? Not that I'm giving you the money. This is hypothetical."

"Not long. Three weeks or a month to grow the shit, once I get some decent clones. I've got a guy in town who wants to deal it, we had a business meeting."

"Is that what you borrowed my car for?" asked Bones lazily, flipping the channel to some cooking show for ten seconds before turning it back to the curling. "Because Christy said she saw you at the Timmy's on Beaverbank an hour ago."

"I had a bunch of errands," said Jim evasively. Bones didn't need to know all his secrets; it was safer that way. "Come on, Bones, you know my shit is the best in the province. I'll turn your money around quick. What, you want in for half? Because I can do forty since you're my best friend, but that's all I can go. Times are tough."

Bones shut the TV off and turned to him finally; he looked exasperated but once Jim had his attention, he'd already won. "I hear the cops are onto you," he said. "If they can get a supply line that goes back to you, you're gonna get arrested. And so will all your _business partners_."

"The cops are onto me?" Jim echoed. He grinned, taking a long drag off his smoke. "That's fucking hilarious, because I sell to like half of them."

Bones lurched to his feet and stomped into the kitchenette; Jim followed and watched him open the rye bottle to refill his glass.

"But I seriously need the money by like Tuesday. This shit is time-sensitive."

Bones yanked open the fridge and pulled out the coke bottle. "I don't fucking have the cash right now."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"You _do_."

"I just had to pay back child support," said Bones, taking an angry swig of his drink. "I'm broke. And site fees are due."

"Fuck." It had been down to Bones or Jim's mom, and fuck that, he was never asking her for money again. "Okay," he said after thinking for a minute. "Plan B is in effect."

"What's Plan B?" Bones asked over the rim of his glass.

Jim grinned slowly, with all his teeth. "Plan B fixes everything, including your site fees. Come on; we need Scotty."

"Why the hell do we need Scotty?"

"It's a three-man goddamn job," Jim called back from the porch. "Get a fucking move on."

***

_"Oh aye, Jim and Lenny have known each other since they both got suspended for a fight in grade six, I think it was. Attached at the hip, them. The thing is, though, it's terrible for them. Jim's always pulling Len into his schemes. I imagine two of the three years Len's spent in prison were Jim's fault. Course, the other one was his own, when he got drunk and torched his trailer after the divorce papers came. Me, I just like to live in my wee shack with my kitties."_

***

Scotty was in the yard in front of his shed (which adjoined Bones' property), welding something while one of his cats supervised. Jim lit his second cigarette off of the first and pitched the butt into the long grass as they strolled up.

"Scotty!" Jim yelled, and the torch switched off.

"You're all dark," Scotty mumbled at him.

"You're wearing fucking welding goggles," said Jim, knocking them off his face.

Scotty blinked. "That's better. What's new, then? I heard you were meeting up with some guy at Tim's today, Jim." Scotty reached out idly to scratch the cat's ears, and it arched and purred.

"Is this a trailer park or a fucking knitting circle?" Jim asked no one in particular.

"I like to knit," said Scotty, testing a wheel on the shopping cart he was working on.

"Don't get off track," said Jim. "Look, Scotty, we need your help with something."

"I really hate all this 'we' shit," Bones muttered over the rim of his glass. He squinted in the sunlight as one of Scotty's cats jumped up on his porch railing.

"What kind of bloody scheme is it this time, then?" Scotty asked, holding up his blowtorch in a way that was somewhere between defensive and menacing. "I won't be joining you arseholes in jail anytime soon."

"No one's going to jail," said Jim. "It's a foolproof plan."

"Get Sulu and Chekov to do it for you, then."

"They'll find a way to fuck it up," said Jim. "Most of your cats are smarter than Sulu and Chekov. Scratch that, all of your cats are smarter than those two fuckbrains."

"What's this plan of yours, then?" Scotty sounded resigned.

"Get in the car and I'll tell you on the way," said Jim.

"You're not taking my car on a crime spree again," Bones said loudly.

"Should have thought of that before you gave me the keys in the first place, because I still have them," said Jim winningly, shaking them in Bones' face and then jerking them away when he made a grab for them.

***

_"What do I think about Jim? My tombstone's going to say, 'Here lies Leonard McCoy, and it's all Jim's fucking fault'."_

***

Jim held up the tube of super glue. "Scotty, you take that corner," he said. "You're the lookout. Bones, you come with me. Quick, come on."

"Where the fuck did you even get the coveralls?" Bones demanded, pulling at the shoulders of his and adjusting the cap over his eyes as they jaywalked across the road.

"I know a guy, he owed me a favour," said Jim, covertly checking out the street before they reached the ATM. "Stand right here," he directed, and Bones obediently blocked the sight line as Jim quickly glued the money slot shut on the ATM.

"How do you even know this will work?" said Bones.

Jim waved his hand to dry the glue faster and then poked the money slot. It held fast. "Not the first time I've done it," he said. "Now we go back to the car and wait."

"How long?" Bones asked as they jogged back across the road.

Jim waved Scotty back to them. "Maybe two, three hours. It's four o'clock on Friday, people are going to be trying to get money for the bar and shit."

"I'm not clear on what happens when their money doesn't come out of the slot," said Scotty as they clambered back into Bones' car.

Jim lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out the window. "The bank's already closed for the day, so they'll just call the number on the machine to complain that it's not working. Except a service guy won't get out to look at it on Friday afternoon, so we're in the clear. And they'll all get reimbursed later. It's a victimless crime, guys." He smirked.

"I don't really think," Scotty started, but Jim dug into his coveralls and pulled out a toonie.

"Go get me some of those jalapeno and cheddar chips," he said, pronouncing the J mostly just to make Bones' eye twitch. "Bones, you want anything?"

Bones waved Scotty off irritably and nursed his drink until he came back. Then at least he was distracted by being mad at how loudly Jim ate chips.

Jim liked to perform these community services for Bones.

"Okay," said Jim after a while, pulling out his phone to glance at it. Bones jerked awake. "We're good to go. Bones, get that grocery bag I brought," he said before bouncing out of the car. The coast was clear and he crossed the street fast, Bones in his wake. The ATM was deserted and he pulled out an old La Senza giftcard he'd liberated from Gaila (he was pretty sure it was empty) and rammed it into the card slot. While the ATM tried to figure that out, Jim popped the money slot open and grabbed the cloth grocery bag from Bones right before the machine spat out a pile of twenties.

"What the shitting fuck," said Bones, staring as the money spilled out.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Jim hissed, closing the bag and leaving the ATM to keep trying to read an empty giftcard.

"How much do you think is in there?" asked Bones as they ducked back into the car and started it.

Jim glanced inside the bag. "Maybe eleven, twelve hundred bucks. You can have a hundred for your site fees and I'm taking the rest. You can both have another fifteen percent when I sell my shit."

"Holy shit," said Scotty.

"Twenty percent," said Bones, rolling through the stop sign.

"Fuck your mother," said Jim as he flipped open his phone to send a text. He stopped and glanced up. "Oh wait," he said, "I did."

***

_"Jim could have done a whole lot with his life. He's probably smart enough. Or dangerous enough. But the thing is, he dropped out halfway through grade ten. Just stopped showing up to school, just like that. He got a job at a mechanic's but that didn't even last till the summer. Now he just sees how often he can nearly get himself thrown into jail, and he drags down Leonard and Monty with him."_

_"He's good at lots of stuff, though."_

_"Jim is good at like, three things. Growing weed--I will give him this, he's like some kind of pot whisperer--talking himself out of trouble, and getting himself into trouble."_

_"That's not_ all _he's good at."_

_"Jesus Christ, Gaila, why is everything about sex with you? Fine. He's good at four things."_

_"I just like to give credit where it's due."_

***

"Drop me off at Gary's trailer," said Jim, as they turned onto the main road that went through the trailer park. "He knows I'm coming."

"You're buying the gear off of him again?" Bones asked, sounding skeptical.

"Gary's always good for that shit," Jim insisted. "I don't know anyone else who can get me trays, lights and clones from BC strains with his turnaround, either."

"But he's still a fucking idiot."

Jim caught movement in the side mirror and adjusted it to catch all of the tan Caprice pulling up behind them. The fucking twirly light on the dashboard was going, too. "Speaking of fucking idiots," he said, "the shitbirds have landed. Scotty, hide this under the seat and don't talk." He passed back the bag of twenties just as the car doors on the Caprice slammed and Mr. Marcus and Cupcake came sauntering up. Jim was pretty sure he remembered this scene from _Super Troopers_.

***

 _"Dude, Marcus is a_ dick _."_

_"He's the trailer park supervisor. Cupcake's his assistant."_

_"I think Cupcake's actual name is like, Randy or something, but Jim started calling him Cupcake one day and now that's his name."_

_"Yo, he's so fucking fat he looks like his gut is full of cupcakes. It suits him."_

_"I have seen that motherfucker destroy a stack of cheeseburgers."_

_"He thinks he's so great. My favourite thing is when the bottle kids throw bottles at him, and he looks like he wants to chase them but then remembers he's so fucking fat he'd die."_

_"I heard Cupcake wants to be a cop like Marcus used to be. But Marcus got kicked off the force for being drunk all the time so I don't know how that works."_

_"Cupcake would be the worst cop ever. That's not why Marcus keeps him around anyway."_

_"Ew, dude. But no, you're right."_

***

"What's new, gentlemen?" Marcus asked, bending to look through Bones' window while Cupcake peered into Jim's.

Jim lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into Cupcake's face. "Not a fucking thing, Marcus. We got places to be, though, so how about you two fucknuggets get out of our way and go pick up trash or something?"

"I've got your parole officer on speed dial, Kirk," said Marcus, pointing menacingly. "I'm just waiting for you to make one wrong move and then _bam_ , it's back to con college for your stupid ass. This park is no place for a degenerate like you."

"I could become an alcoholic," said Jim, "if that would help me fit in better."

"Take that back," snapped Cupcake.

Jim tapped ash onto his shoe and watched him jump back from the car. "Go put a fucking shirt on, you unprofessional slob. No one wants to see that pasty gut."

"It's hot out," said Cupcake defensively. Bones gunned the engine and took off on the long way around to Gary's place, drowning out the sound of Marcus reassuring Cupcake about his body image.

"Maybe this isn't the best time to start growing dope again, Jim," ventured Scotty as he handed the bag of cash back over the front seat.

"Maybe those two fuckronauts are so retarded I could grow the shit in their flowerbed and they still wouldn't be able to pin anything on me." Jim counted out a hundred bucks for Bones and stole a sip from the rye and coke on the dashboard before jumping out of the car to go knock on Gary's trailer.

***

After seeing Gary, there was one more step in getting the plan Jim was privately calling 'Freedom 35' off the ground. He walked up the gravel road to Chris' place, stopping twice to pet some of Scotty's wandering cats and once to yell threats at a kid who lobbed an empty Canadian bottle at him (and missed, but took out the taillight of someone's truck).

"Hello," he called as he walked into Chris' trailer.

"In the living room," Chris called back.

"I came to talk to you about the tomatoes," Jim announced. He looked around the kitchen; the empty bottles had all been cleared out and the table was set for two with patterned paper plates, red solo cups and napkins. "Why so fancy? Did I forget an occasion?" he asked.

Chris rolled out of the living room. "No, but you'll have to come back about the tomatoes later. Your mom's coming over for dinner, she'll be here any minute."

"Fuck! Why didn't you tell me?" Jim shouted. He ran for the door but Winona was already standing on the porch with a case of beer in hand.

"Shit," he said.

"Hi, Jamie. Here, take this." She handed him the beer, which meant he couldn't run past her. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"No, sorry, I can't. I have to go rip out all my toenails."

She walked past him and leaned down to kiss Chris on the cheek. He lifted out of the chair a little to accommodate her. "That's a shame. You know, I heard from your brother yesterday."

Jim thumped the beer down on the kitchen counter.

"He's doing well," she went on. "Just got a raise. Thinking of proposing to his girlfriend."

"Good for him," said Jim.

"I also heard from your parole officer. Apparently you missed a meeting this week."

"I was working," said Jim.

"Right," said Winona flatly. "What are you pretending to do these days?"

"I work at the Fido booth in the mall, Ma."

"You wanna sell that story, maybe get a phone made in this decade," she suggested. "No one uses the flippy ones anymore. Which you would know if you sold phones instead of dope or whatever. Maybe you should just get a new one every time you get out of jail, that should keep you current."

"I'm leaving," said Jim. "Great to see you as always, Ma. Chris, I'll talk to you later."

Jim slammed out the door and jogged down the street without waiting for a response.

***

_"She fucking goes on like she doesn't buy my goddamn dope when I'm growing it. All I hear about is my brother this and my brother that. Sam finished his grade twelve and went to Dalhousie and now he's an accountant in Halifax. We all have our skillsets. Mine is growing weed and his is being boring. That's just the way things are, but she can't accept that._

_"Chris isn't much help either, always engineering ways for me to run into her like that. But at least he's letting me grow my shit on his property; he's got this little camper out behind his place, next to the trees. It'll be just like grade eight. And he gets a little cut, too. His government paycheque isn't much. I mean--and don't tell anyone this--he doesn't even really need the wheelchair, but the disability is his income; have you seen how much you get being on the dole these days? It's pathetic. How's a person supposed to live?"_

***

"Well," said Jim proudly, "what do you think, boys?"

"She's a tight setup, Jim," said Scotty, bending to inspect one of the clones.

Bones poked at one of the tinfoil-coated camper walls. "Where'd you get all this foil?"

"Jacked Dollarama. Gladys was on the till, she and I have an arrangement," said Jim. "Oh yeah. Scotty, can I have one of your cats?"

"What in the fuck for?" Scotty peered down the line of plants.

"Guarding against vermin. The fucking mice love this shit."

"I think not, laddie. A grow operation's no place for a kitty."

"Come on, Scotty! We'll put a kitty bed in the corner there, bring in one of your feeder things, it'll be happy. It's warm in here, cats love warm."

Scotty looked at the corner and frowned.

"You have an investment in this shit, remember?" said Jim. "Fifteen points."

"I guess," said Scotty reluctantly, "it might be okay if it's checked on regular. Bring in some kitty grass for it to chew on, like. Captain Scratchy might be up to the task."

"Catgrass is a good idea," said Jim. "Keep it from chewing on _my_ grass." He put out a hand. "Deal, Scotty?"

"Don't do it," said Bones. "Just don't. It'll end in tears and taking a stoned cat to the vet again."

"Those mice are wee bastards though, Jim's right." Scotty frowned and then shook Jim's hand, once. "I'll go let Captain Scratchy know about his assignment," he said, and opened the door of the camper. "Oh, hello."

Jim and Bones looked over Scotty's shoulder to see who was outside, blocking the view of the camper interior in the process.

"Tyra, what are you doing out here?" Bones demanded.

"Fuck," said Jim. "Tyra, stay outside, okay, sweetie? There's grownup stuff in here." He hustled Scotty out the door and jumped to the ground, where Tyra was peering up at the closed camper door and twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

"Did you shut Bones in there?" she asked.

"He's fine," said Jim. "He's busy. What are you doing here, kiddo? Your mom's not nearby, is she?" He glanced around but Chris' lot was empty except for them, Scotty having buggered off quick.

"She's at home working. What's in the camper?"

"Grownup stuff, like I said. Not for kids. Wait, it's like, Tuesday. Shouldn't you be at school or something?" Jim wasn't entirely sure.

"It's Thursday," she said. "I cut."

"Tyra! What the hell did I tell you about skipping school?"

Tyra huffed. "'Don't go back home, that's the best place to get caught.' I _know_ , but I was at the arcade all morning and I got bored. I made thirty bucks already."

"What, seriously?" Jim grinned. "That's my girl! Were you hustling the foosball again?"

She nodded. "You were right. If I throw two or three games first, I make like three times as much."

"Works every time," said Jim, and they shared a fistbump.

"I came to ask you a question," she said. "Can you buy me a pack of smokes? I'll give you some of my money to get them."

Jim rested a hand between her shoulders as they walked out to the road. "I thought you were quitting. You promised your mom."

"It's hard," she said. "Grade five is more stressful than they said it would be."

"I'll buy a pack for you if you promise me it's your last," said Jim, although he knew where she was coming from.

"Okay."

"And shaking down Chekov is cheating."

"He always lies about having none, anyway," she muttered.

"You're just not big enough to scare him yet," said Jim, patting her on the back. "Give it a year or two."

"Thanks, Jim. You're the best."

***

_"Aye, Tyra is Nyota's kid. Nice little girl but she's growin' up with signs of the park all over her. Nyota tries, being a single mother and all, but the forces are working against her. The tyke spends too much time around Jim. Jim loves kids, though; Lenny's girl calls him Uncle when Lenny lets Jim within ten feet of her, which isn't too often._

_"Jim's unquestionably had some influence with Jo and even with Sulu and Chekov when they were coming up, but Tyra's his favourite. He thinks he's her dad, right. Nyota isn't sharing that information, although I think she does know who it is. She'd like as not have you believe it was an immaculate fucking conception, but if I'm remembering my catechism, that happens to virgins. Bless her, she can't be that delusional."_

***

"What are you going to do now?" Jim asked when they walked out of the convenience store. He handed Tyra her pack of menthol lights and popped open the bag of chips he'd bought for dinner.

Tyra ripped the wrapper off of her smokes and reached up to toss the plastic in the trash can outside the store. Then she took off her backpack to stuff the rest of the pack in the little front pouch, peered inside it, and frowned. "Do you have a light? Auntie Gaila keeps stealing mine and she never gives it back when she's done."

Jim passed her his lighter; she fought with the childproof band on the clicker for a minute and then lit her smoke, exhaling with her eyes closed. "Well," she said, leading the way across the parking lot and leaping over the glass from a broken car window, "it's almost time for me to get home from school anyway. I guess I'll go see what Mom's doing."

"I'll walk you home," said Jim, offering her the chip bag. Tyra stuck her smoke back in her mouth to reach out for a handful.

"Thanks. There's some assholes down by the bus stop who give me shit every day."

"I've got your back, kiddo." Jim rearranged the back of his shirt so that the grip of his gun was visible above the waistband of his pants before they walked past the bus stop. Three fifteen-year-old kids in dirty camo pants and Nirvana t-shirts straightened up as they walked by but they all clocked Jim and the piece resting against his spine and went back to slouching and sharing a weak mall joint under a tree. Jim glanced down at Tyra, who was looking straight ahead and taking another drag on her smoke as they walked by the little shitheads.

When they turned the corner, she sighed loudly. Jim gave her pigtail a playful tug and pulled the back of his shirt over his gun again. Growing up was easier when you had a little help now and then.

Tyra stopped abruptly in the road in front of her trailer and took a last drag on her smoke before putting it out in the gravel.

"You still smell like smoke," Jim pointed out.

"Mom won't notice; Auntie Gaila smokes inside all the time." She ran up the porch steps and stopped in front of the screen door. "Are you coming in?"

Jim shrugged and followed her; Gaila and Nyota were in the kitchen, drinking tea. "Hey, baby girl," said Nyota when Tyra wandered in. "Make yourself a sandwich, I have a colour in ten--" She cut herself off when she saw Jim.

"Hey, Jim," said Gaila with a wink.

Jim winked back and settled himself into one of the salon chairs that faced the window. "Ladies."

"Jim," said Nyota flatly, "you're not welcome here. Tyra, was he hanging around you again?"

Tyra had her head in the fridge; she shrugged without turning around.

"Jim," said Gaila, standing up and sauntering over to lean on the chair he was in, "what's this I hear about you getting back into growing--" she flicked a glance over at Tyra, "--tomatoes?"

"Where'd you hear that from?" Jim asked.

"Christy was in to have her roots done."

"Christy sure likes to share," said Jim, settling back in the chair. Gaila leaned in and started playing with his spikes, her fingers whispering over his head. Her cranberry-red hair was falling over him in a way he enjoyed.

"So was she right?"

"Ask me in a month," he relented.

Gaila grinned. "What are you doing later?"

Jim opened his mouth but Nyota's loud noise of disgust cut him off.

"You're going to get arrested," she said, glaring at him. Her arms were crossed. "Or killed."

"What's wrong with growing tomatoes?" Tyra asked through a mouthful of baloney sandwich.

"Go do your homework, baby," said Nyota. "Now," she added, cutting off the protest before it could start.

Tyra sulked out of the kitchen, dragging her backpack behind her.

"Seriously, Jim," Nyota hissed, stalking over to the salon chair. She put her hands on the armrests and leaned in until they were face-to-face, blocking his escape. Jim realized dimly that Gaila had retreated. "Jim," Nyota snapped, bringing his attention back. "Do you enjoy spending time with my daughter?"

"Yes," he said, trying for a strong, defensive tone.

"If you go back to jail one more fucking time, you will never be allowed near her again. Do you understand?"

"I'm not going to jail," he said.

"Jim."

"I'm not. I've got it all figured out. And I want to start paying child support, too."

"She's not your goddamn--"

"Is anyone else paying you? No. I want to help out. Let me."

Nyota glared. Jim decided to push his luck.

"Once I get started," he said, "I was thinking I could give you a monthly cut."

"I don't want your filthy drug money."

"I was going to give you some of my not-filthy drugs. Remember those awesome cookies and brownies you used to make? Might be a nice little side business. And with no overhead on the ingredients...." He trailed off.

Nyota didn't say anything. She didn't move away from the chair, either.

"I've never had special brownies as good as yours, babe," Gaila piped up. "Ooh, and that lasagna? That was the best idea."

"How much of your rent can you cover by doing hair, anyway?" Jim asked.

They stared each other down for a long moment. Then the colour appointment rang the doorbell. Nyota pulled away from Jim with a huff; he caught a whiff of her vanilla perfume.

"I think I'm in the way," he said finally, getting out of the chair.

"Call me," Gaila called after him as he left.

***

_"Well, of course he's got a reason to think Tyra's his. But she's not, all right? We were seventeen and retarded. Mostly retarded. There were some good times but mostly there weren't, you know? Anyway, it's not happening again. We tried and it was a terrible idea and now it's time to move the hell on. I just wish someone would tell Jim that."_

***

Gary had come through with the seedlings, Captain Scratchy had killed a mouse in the trailer already, and everything was going according to plan. Jim was sitting on Bones' couch playing Halo and feeling good about life when someone started hammering on the screen door.

"You need to answer that," Bones muttered from the armchair across the room.

"It's your fucking door."

"I don't have visitors who knock. Times like this I'm grateful for that."

Jim sighed loudly and got up. It was Sulu at the door, looking out of breath. Jim stuck his head outside and caught sight of Chekov at the bottom of the deck stairs, having a staring contest with Scotty's biggest cat.

"What do you want?" Jim asked tiredly, leaning against the door frame.

"Five-0," Sulu gasped.

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Where?"

"We saw it at Gary's."

Jim relaxed. "Oh."

"But Gary went out the back way into the trees, so it pulled away, but not to the exit."

Chekov had pulled his phone out. "It's over at Mr. Pike's now," he called. "Janey just texted me."

Either they'd caught Chris in the fraud thing or... yeah, Jim had a bad feeling.

"Do they know about the... tomatoes?" Sulu asked.

Jim blinked. "Don't worry about it. Go home. Or go commit some petty crime somewhere else and draw the heat off. That would be helpful," he shouted as he went back inside. Bones had left his keys on the counter; Jim snatched them up and yelled, "I'm going out, I've got an errand!" before Bones could react.

Bones was quicker than he'd ever let on, though, because he was in the passenger seat of the car before Jim got the engine to turn over.

"Why are you stealing my car?"

"Borrowing," said Jim, throwing it into gear and peeling out for Chris' trailer.

Bones seemed to understand when he saw the cop car parked neatly on the side of the road. "Jesus Christ."

"Stay in the car," said Jim, taking the keys with him.

Bones did not stay in the car. "Don't get arrested. You're still on parole."

"I'm just gonna talk to the guy, Bones."

"That's also worrying."

Chris had the front door propped open against the wheel of his chair; the cop was on the porch, holding open the screen door. He was new to the force; his nametag said 'Grayson'. He was also tall, dark, broody, and giving Jim an unimpressed look. Damn. Jim had to get his head in the game.

"Who is this," the cop asked in a flat voice as Jim hopped up the stairs.

"We're the welcome wagon," he grinned back, slapping Bones on the shoulder and then gesturing expansively. "Welcome to the park, Constable!"

The cop studied him for a minute. "You must be Jim Kirk," he said finally.

Jim could _hear_ the giggle Bones was smothering beside him. "I am," he said brightly. "Nice to meet you...."

"Constable Grayson," Grayson supplied. Fine. Jim would find out his first name later. "There have been reports of a marijuana grow operation in this trailer park. As you are still on parole, Mr. Kirk, I hope that you are not involved."

"I've changed my ways," Jim assured him. "What, you think this upstanding gentleman is growing weed? Medicinal weed, maybe, for his terrible work injury that put him in that wheelchair and gave him chronic pain he has to live with every single day?"

Grayson raised an eyebrow.

"If he _did_ , I don't think anyone would blame him!" Jim declared. "But the fact--the very _idea_ that you would accuse Chris of committing a felony because of his disability and the hand-to-mouth existence it's cursed him with is _deplorable_ , and you and the entire RCMP should be ashamed of using that kind of poor investigative strategy."

Chris nodded solemnly. Bones was standing apart from Jim by now.

Grayson tipped his head a little to the side, looking at Jim like one of Scotty's cats eyeing a grasshopper. "I stopped to speak to Mr. Pike about the broken glass bottles in his front yard," he said calmly. "As they are a hazard to children playing in the area."

Jim paused.

"But as you are so vocal on this topic, Mr. Kirk, and as your criminal record includes several drug-related convictions, I am sure you and I will speak again soon. Mr. Pike, consider my advice about the glass."

"It was the playing children that put them there, I told you," said Chris. "Goddamn bottle kids."

"Consider paying one of them to clean it up, then."

"That's probably exactly what they want. Goddamn kids are like the mafia."

"Good day, Mr. Pike." Grayson walked past Jim and got back into his car, driving off. He seemed to be _patrolling_. That was a concern.

"I can't believe you," said Bones disgustedly.

Jim jumped. "What?"

"You were staring at his ass all the way to his car."

***

_"Sunnyvale Trailer Park is a large part of my current patrol area. As a new member of the local detachment, I understand this is a hazing ritual. While the park has many problem areas, I feel confident that appropriate attention may lead to an overall decrease in local crime and a corresponding rise in community and property values in the area._

_"We have had one tip about a grow operation in the park from the park supervisor, Mr. Marcus. He did implicate Mr. Kirk and several accomplices and we are investigating a number of leads at this time. While we have yet to pinpoint the location of the alleged grow site or any clues as to its location that are common among these types of operations, Mr. Kirk's sudden arrival at Christopher Pike's trailer during our conversation and his defensive behaviour lead me strongly to believe that Mr. Pike is also somehow implicated. If there is indeed marijuana cultivation occurring here."_

***

When the radiator in Bones' '79 Cutlass died, it went with a noise that made every dog on the street start howling and enough steam to totally obscure the front of his trailer.

"My fucking car!" Bones yelled, waving angrily at the steam.

Jim turned the ignition off again and crept around the front to pop the hood, moving quickly to keep from burning himself on the steam. His face was instantly bathed in it; it smelled like old car-dirt. "Fuck," he gasped, backpedalling and blinking. At least the steam was dispersing. The engine hissed like Captain Scratchy when he got stepped on, although Jim could still hear the faint pings of cooling metal under the noise. So much for going to get smokes.

"I'm fucking sick of fixing this shitheap," Bones muttered, kicking a fender.

Jim opened his mouth but was interrupted by tires on gravel. Of course Marcus and Cupcake were right up on it.

"There's a regulation in this park about the maximum allowed size of lawn ornaments, Mr. McCoy," drawled Marcus as he swaggered up. He hooked his thumbs in his belt as he gave the back of the Cutlass an appraising look.

"And they're not allowed to contaminate the soil, either," added Cupcake, who was staring at a dark patch on the grass from an oil leak. Jim didn't know how the fucking car could even leak oil when it burned the shit up so fast.

"Ha," said Jim loudly before Bones could go for either of their throats. "That's a funny fucking joke, boys. I've got a funny joke, too. Knock knock."

"Who's there?" sneered Cupcake before Marcus could telepathically make him shut up.

"Go fuck yourselves."

Cupcake frowned. "Go fuck yourselves wh--" Marcus' hand over his mouth finally muffled his stupidity, but Jim flipped him the double bird to make sure the point got across.

"If your degenerate friend is done digging you both a hole, Mr. McCoy," said Marcus, "you've got three days to get this fire hazard shitbox either running correctly or out of this park, or I'm going to call the most expensive tow truck in my fucking Rolodex." He pulled out his little ticket book. "Here's your written warning," he said, looking like he was about to achieve orgasm as he wrote out details of Bones' offense and held out the yellow copy with a smarmy smile. "Gentlemen," he said with a little nod. Cupcake copied it with a salute before following him back to the idiotmobile.

Bones glanced at the citation, crumpled it up and ran into the road to throw it at the back of their car as they pulled away. It bounced off the rear window; Marcus sped up a little and disappeared around the corner. Jim thought that was the smart move, because Bones had a lot of heavier objects close to hand if he wasn't satisfied by throwing the paper. He walked into the road to stand next to Bones, watching his shoulders heave with deep breaths.

"The fuck am I gonna do?" said Bones quietly, still staring down the road. "I can't even afford to fix it or get rid of it. I'd probably have to pay even if I scrapped the fucking thing."

"Scotty has a deal with Shitty Bill Keenser down at Rainbow Scrap," said Jim, "with his shopping carts. Shitty'd probably take it off your hands, even pay you for it." He started trying to lead Bones back into the front yard; Mrs. Peterson's curtains were twitching across the way.

"Then I got no car," said Bones sadly, dragging his feet back to his porch. "This one was a gift from my ma as it was."

Jim looked at the car and sighed, long and loud. There was nothing for it; Bones was his best friend and brother from another mother, after all (not that Bones' mom liked Jim any more than his own did). "I'll fix your car, Bones."

Bones blinked at him. "We can't afford parts even from salvage. If you can even get parts for the fucking thing anymore."

Jim shrugged. "We can't afford to _buy_ parts. Don't worry, I'll handle it. We'll get the right shit and this bastard will run better than ever." He clapped Bones on the shoulder.

"If anyone can get this piece of shit running again, it's you," Bones conceded.

"We'll borrow Chris' truck and head into town," said Jim. "Wear something boring."

***

_"I've been the park supervisor for fifteen years. I know everybody in this park; it's a point of pride for me. Len McCoy and Jim Kirk are the two worst characters in this place."_

_"Recidivists."_

_"Exactly, Randy. Len, I'll grant you, he's got his moments of upstanding citizenry. He started out as a good kid, if only he could have kept his nose clean and stayed out of jail."_

_"He was always nice to me back in school. Or anyway he was civil."_

_"And then Jim Fucking Kirk got out of his stint in juvie with all those new 'life skills' and that was it. They went down for knocking over three liquor stores by the time they were nineteen. And it's continued ever since. I have an incident file--get the incident file, Randy--look at this thing, it's an inch thick. Public drunkenness, littering, discharging weapons, theft, drug dealing, use and cultivation. This is just the last two years, I have to keep starting new files for those idiots because the folder things aren't big enough."_

_"You should get one of those fancy expanding folders, Mr. Marcus. They have them down at the mall in that office supply place."_

_"My point is, I'm tasked with keeping this park safe and clean and a good place to live. The cops don't take our needs seriously. It's down to me and Randy to keep the peace. And our major obstacle is Jim Kirk."_

_"And Len."_

_"Mostly it's Jim. If I could get that asshole to leave this park for good... Xanadu. Fucking Xanadu."_

_"Xanadu."_

***

Jim was picking fuses out of a Sunfire when Bones started patting his shoulder urgently and overly hard. "What?" he demanded, pocketing the fuses as he stood up.

Bones just pointed. Jim leaned around the open hood and spotted the cop car creeping up the street to park behind the Sunfire. Jim reached up and shut the hood, dusting his hands off on his jeans. He'd been planning to go for the alternator, too, but he could find an alternator somewhere else, he supposed.

"Be cool and let me do the talking, Bones," he said, straightening up and schooling his face to look professional.

Both cops got out of the car, splitting up to join them in front of the Sunfire in a pincer move. "Gentlemen," one of them said.

"We've had reports of suspicious characters wandering around this neighbourhood," said the other one. "Poking at cars. You got anything to say about that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Jim. "It took you idiots two goddamn hours to come investigate. That's going in the report."

The first cop--his nametag said Murphy--froze. "Pardon?"

Jim rolled his eyes at Bones, who looked like he was sweating a little but had at least followed Jim's lead, straightening his shoulders and putting on his disappointed-dad face. "Word doesn't travel fast in this district, does it? Look, Constable, this is supposed to be hush-hush, but we're from Ottawa."

The second cop, McDougall, glanced at her partner. "The hell is this?" she asked.

Murphy held up a hand to silence her. "Ottawa, eh?"

Jim affected earnestness. "Budget reviews," he said. "We gotta check which detachments are actually doing their damn jobs, see if they deserve what they're getting or if they've got the right resources."

"Is this a performance review?" McDougall's voice sounded a little panicked.

"Not as such," said Jim. "But your response time wasn't promising. Look, we'll be in the neighbourhood another little while, checking some more things out, so keep our secret identities to yourselves, all right? You guys seem okay, our report isn't gonna be that bad. Since we're talking, do you have any opinions on your resources?"

"We're pretty understaffed," said Murphy.

"If Green didn't keep taking sick days," McDougall muttered.

Jim nodded. "We'll take that under advisement, constables. Pleasure to meet you; keep up the good work."

Everybody shook hands, and Jim and Bones watched the cops get back into their cruiser and pull around to drive off the other way.

Bones let out a shaky breath.

Jim clapped him on the shoulder and said, "There was an Olds down the block that might have the right size radiator."

***

Once they had liberated all the parts they needed, it took Jim and Bones two days and a forty of rye to fix the car. A small crowd of kids gathered around by the time Chekov was positioned in front of the spark plugs with a can of WD-40 and Bones was ready to start it.

"Keep spraying until it turns over, Chekov," said Jim. "Go, Bones!"

Bones turned the key and Chekov started spraying. When the coughing of the engine turned into a purr, the kids (and Sulu and Chekov) all started cheering. Jim, for his part, smiled proudly at the scene, not seeing Bones getting out of the car until he moved in for a hug.

"Thanks, Jim," Bones said into his shoulder.

Jim clapped him on the back. "Anytime, man."

"Here," said Bones, backing off and digging into his pocket. He came out with a keyring. "I found my other set of keys for it." He held them out.

"Mine?" Jim asked.

Bones shrugged. "You put a lot of work into it, I think you deserve to be able to drive the fuckin' thing. Just don't use it for any crime."

"I'd never! I steal cars for that."

Bones glanced back at the Cutlass. "Runs better than ever, I think."

"Obviously," said Jim. "When I fix things, they work. Let's go test-drive it, I need smokes."

***

They stopped at the Mac's on the outskirts of the park and saw a hot blonde paying for a slurpee. She looked up and smiled at them as she took her change, and Jim thought, what the hell.

"Have we met before?" he asked.

"No," she said, and didn't offer anything else. She was still grinning, though.

"I'm Jim. This is Bones."

She raised an eyebrow and gave Bones a considering look. Jim heard him whimper very, very faintly.

"You know," she answered, "I definitely thought when I saw him, 'that guy looks like a Bones'."

"You're as astute as you are lovely," Jim said, because Bones didn't look like he was going to get his shit together enough to form words anytime soon. "What do people call you?"

"Come here often?" Bones suddenly managed, and Jim felt like he'd been knifed in the guts.

She looked amused, though. "Carol," she answered, "and no. I'm in town visiting my dad. See you around, boys."

She brushed past them, smelling like flowers, and walked outside to get into a rental Civic.

Bones stood and watched until she pulled away and disappeared around the corner, and Jim decided to leave him to it while he went to get cigarettes. And maybe some Cheezies. He had a craving.

***

_"Yeah, my dad is the park supervisor. I moved with my mom to Toronto when they got divorced but I still visit when I can. It works out to once or twice a year, although I was in the States for the last couple years and didn't make it out, unfortunately. I like to make sure Dad's still alive and... stuff. I check up on him. He needs taking care of. So I'm here for a week or so, I guess. I just rent a car and drive out here. It's a nice trip when it's not snowing._

_"What do I do? I'm doing my doctorate at U of T. Molecular biology. I could tell you what my research is about but you're not going to understand it anyway. No offense."_

***

" _Cops! I smell bacon!_ "

Jim heard the MacLean kid yelling as he pedaled past on his bike, the advance warning of the cop car that crawled up the road to park in front of Bones' trailer. Jim sighed and stepped out on the porch, scratching at his stomach. Maybe he should have put on something else besides his basketball shorts, but it wasn't like Constable Green deserved any fancy treatment like wearing a shirt.

Of course, it was Constable Grayson who actually got out of the car instead. Jim crossed his arms across his chest reflexively as Grayson walked through the long grass and up the rotting porch steps.

"Can I help you, officer?" Jim asked.

"We have had reports of shots fired in this neighbourhood. Your name was mentioned, Mr. Kirk." Grayson's voice was very calm, as if he was discussing the weather instead of accusing Jim of committing a crime.

"Car backfired," said Jim, pointing at the Cutlass.

Grayson glanced over his shoulder at it. "Four times?"

"It was amazing," Jim agreed.

They watched each other for a moment. "There are broken bottle remains visible on the back fence from here," said Grayson. "They are lined up almost perfectly with the far railing of this porch. I do not suppose any persons on this property were engaging in target practice with live firearms?"

Jim didn't bother looking behind him at the fence. "Don't suppose they were. Those were probably the fucking bottle kids. Some of them have BBs."

Jim swore to god he saw Grayson smirk a little right before he turned away. "Noted. I will have a word with these children about their continued misdemeanor offences."

"If you can catch one," Jim agreed.

"Stay out of trouble, Mr. Kirk," said Grayson as he went back down the stairs and through the grass to his car. "And remind Mr. McCoy that there are local ordinances about the allowed length of grass in this municipal region," he called out before getting in his car and pulling away down the road.

Jim watched the car disappear and then went back inside. Grayson looked more attractive by the day, goddammit. Jim was going to be thinking about that little smirk for a long time.

"Chase the RCs off?" Bones asked from his armchair.

"I blamed the bottle kids," said Jim, dropping onto the couch. Bones was cleaning his gun, bits of it scattered across the coffee table next to his half-empty rye.

"Looks good on 'em," said Bones, peering down the chamber before attacking it with a cleaning brush.

"Think cleaning that fucker will fix your aim?" Jim asked casually, grinning at Judge Judy on the TV.

"Think getting the cops called twice a week will get you into that new guy's pants?" Bones asked just as casually.

"Can't hurt," Jim shot back, changing the channel.

***

_"The tomatoes are coming in great so far. Scotty's got two of his kitties working in shifts to keep the goddamn mice and squirrels and shit out of the camper. First crop should be ready in a week or so. My buddy Gary got me a hookup with a--a farmer's market, to sell the tomatoes. Should be good money. Yeah, they fucking love tomatoes, the guys at this farmer's market. Tough to get good ones where they live. And of course I'm the main supplier of tomatoes to the park. Lots of salad lovers here._

_"Nope, not much trouble from the cops, either. Hydroponic tomatoes aren't illegal, right? Exactly. No problems there. I mean, there are ways around the power draw issues for the light setup so's their cute little 'grow op task force' can't pinpoint you that way."_

***

Jim was sleeping on Chris' couch for the past few days, which at least made it easier to check his crop. Gary's hookup with the prison guards at the pen was basically the key to Freedom 35 and everything was going fine, but he was maybe hovering just a little. He was justified; there was a lot of money riding on this.

So he thought it was understandable that he had a fucking meltdown when he went to do his morning check of the heat lamps and soil pH and found the two dead plants.

His first instinct was mice, but Daisy was curled up sleeping on the towel in the corner of the camper and he couldn't find any mouse shit anywhere, anyway. Then he saw the tiny holes in the leaves of his plants. He checked two more in a panic and found the stems crawling with green bugs.

"Shit fuck fuck fuckshittingmotherfucking _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ \--" He booked it out of the camper, letting the door bang shut behind him, and Chris shouted out the screen door about civilized people not making that much noise before noon as Jim ran past, jumping in the Cutlass to tear out for Bones' trailer.

Bones was snoring on the living room couch, arm thrown over his eyes and an empty glass and Canadian Club handle on the coffee table. Yelling never did any good, so Jim cut to the chase and tipped the couch over, dumping Bones facedown on the rug.

"Whaffuck," Bones yelled into the floor, trying to get his arms under him to sit upright and yell at Jim some more.

Jim righted the couch, ignoring the cushions that had ended up on the floor. "Get up, you hungover bastard, we have a problem."

Bones managed to flip himself over, glaring up at Jim and holding his hand out for Jim to haul him upright. "I don't smell any fucking smoke, Jim, so if nothing's on fire then I'd like to know what else is so important you gotta wake me up like that."

"It's the weed. We've got bugs."

Bones staggered to his feet, groaning. "Bugs," he echoed.

"They're eating all my fucking plants!" Jim shouted. "This is like grade eight all over again!"

Bones winced. "Calm the fuck down. It's too early for your drama."

"It's eleven-thirty."

"I need a fucking drink." Bones shuffled into the kitchenette, cracking a fresh handle of CC and waving at the fridge. "Get me the coke."

Jim obediently opened the fridge and found a two-litre of no-name coke. It was almost empty. "You need to go to the store."

Bones made grabby hands until Jim passed the bottle over. Then he squinted at it, sloshed it around a little, shrugged and tipped the remnants into the glass. He filled the rest of it with more rye and took a test sip, nodding to himself. "I'll go later. Now let's go over your little problem."

"Oh no," said Jim. "By all means, finish your breakfast." He opened the nearest cupboard and found a dusty box of saltines and one can of maple n' bacon beans. "Do you actually eat? Are there hot dogs at least?"

"I'm never hungry," Bones dismissed, taking another sip of his drink.

Jim shut the cupboard door with a bang that made Bones wince. "There's fucking green bugs all over my plants. I think aphids or something, I dunno."

"How'd they get in there?"

"It's a fucking Airstream, Bones, not Fort Knox. The point is, they're killing my crop and if that happens, we're fucked."

Bones looked thoughtful. "How do you get rid of bugs?"

"No idea! I lost the whole crop last time this happened. This is my worst fucking nightmare." Jim started pacing the linoleum, digging his hands through his hair. He was going to have a panic attack any minute.

"All right, let's go to the library."

Jim stopped. That was the last answer he'd been expecting. "The library? You think they have books about hydroponics at the _library_?"

"They have gardening books. It's not like bugs only eat weed."

"Okay," said Jim. "Okay. Wait, don't you need like, a card or something, to go to the library?"

"Only to rent the books. You can read them there for free."

That probably meant he could walk out the door with them no problem. "Let's go, then," said Jim.

"Where's my keys?"

"I've got them." Jim eyed Bones, who looked pretty rough. "I'll drive."

Bones shrugged and followed him out the door. Scotty heard them and poked his head out of his shed as they thumped down the steps.

"All right?" he called.

Jim waved and Scotty trotted over, Captain Scratchy on his heels.

"You came in here earlier like your arse was on fire, Jim. Something wrong?"

"We're going to the library," said Jim.

"Oh, I have a card," said Scotty brightly.

"Come on if you want, then," said Jim, nodding at the Cutlass.

"There's bugs in the tomatoes," Bones drawled when they were all in the car. "Jim's not takin' it well."

"Bugs? And you're going down the library?"

"Bones thinks they might have a book about how to fix it," said Jim, still skeptical. He was willing to try anything once, though, and that went for gardening tips, too.

"Did you ask that Carol yet?"

Jim slammed on the brakes. "What?"

"Carol. Lovely lass. She's some sort of scientist, knows a bit about plants. I saw her talking to Mrs. Peterson about her roses yesterday."

"She's in the park?" Jim asked.

"Take the right up here," said Scotty.

***

They found Carol at Gaila and Nyota's trailer, sitting on the porch smoking with Gaila. She glanced up when Gaila squealed Jim's name and came running down the steps to jump on him. Jim looked up at her over Gaila's shoulder; she was definitely the same Carol from the Mac's.

"What brings you to Sunnyvale?" he asked when he'd put Gaila down. Scotty was smiling blandly around and Bones looked like he'd lost his words again. It was not a good day for Bones to be confronted with a female person.

Gaila pulled her hair away from her mouth. "She came for a manicure. Girl knows quality when she sees it," she grinned, and Carol saluted with a can of Fresca.

"Every time I'm in town, baby," she called, and they all hiked back up the stairs. Scotty took the remaining deck chair and Jim leaned on the railing between Gaila and Carol while Bones hovered awkwardly.

"You said you were in town to see your dad," said Jim, studying her face.

"And my dad lives here in the park," she said, leaning back in her chair to study him right back. She was no mysterious Constable Grayson, but Carol seemed like she might bite and Jim always liked the mean ones.

"What's up, Jim?" Gaila asked, toying with her hair. "Tomatoes ready yet?"

"No," he said. "That's actually why I'm here. We were looking for Carol."

She looked startled. "Me? You didn't know I was here."

"Scotty here said you were a plant scientist or whatever. I need your expert opinion." He tossed a charming smile on top, for effect.

Carol looked at Scotty. "I'm not a plant scientist, I'm a molecular biologist. But," she said, giving in as he knew she would, "I did take some botany classes in undergrad. Maybe I--what's your problem?"

"Bugs in my plants. Gotta get rid of them, they're killing the things."

"Uh huh. Well, I have to see the bugs and the plants before I can help you out."

Oh, no. "They're green bugs, little ones."

She made eye contact. "You want a wild guess, or do you want to know if I can actually fix your problem?" she asked.

Jim wished he'd just gone looking for books instead.

"Look," she said very slowly, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray, "you want your, uh, tomatoes, to live, you need the bugs gone. I don't really care one way or the other, you get me?"

They stared at each other for a long time.

"Come on, I'll drive you over there," Jim said finally. "Bones, you ride in the back."

"Are we not going to the library after all, then?" Scotty asked sadly.

***

_"Obviously I knew Jim was growing weed. The whole park knows. Sunnyvale Trailer Park is not a place you can keep a secret. You'd have to literally kill everybody. And I am really super not a botanist at all, not that that's ever stopped people from hearing the word 'biologist' and asking me about their gardens or their medical concerns, for some reason. But I like Jim, and his friend Bones is cute even though he always looks like he's three seconds from stroking out. So I figured I could go help him with his little insect problem. I hope it doesn't get back to my dad but I don't really see grow ops as being super criminal operations. It's hard to think of anybody growing pot in an Airstream camper on someone's back lot as a criminal mastermind."_

***

"Yeah, they're aphids," said Carol after a moment of peering at one of the still-living plants. She got up and looked around the trailer. "They love the heat."

"So do the plants," said Jim. "So what do I do? I've already lost two."

"Spray pesticide," she said. "Make sure you wear a mask. Or if you want to do the organic thing, ladybugs."

Okay, she was fucking with him. "Ladybugs."

"Seriously. They chomp these things up, leave the plants alone. Some farmers use them. You can buy buckets of ladybugs online." She squatted down in the corner to cluck her tongue at Daisy, who flopped over on her back for belly rubs.

Absolutely fucking with him. "Why would anybody buy bugs that fly around outside for free?"

Carol laughed. "You're gonna catch your own bucket of ladybugs?"

"It's business," said Jim, guiding her back to the door and outside. "I have to watch my overheads."

"So I don't get a consulting fee?" she asked coyly as they hopped back down onto the flat grass.

Jim looked at her sidelong. "Maybe there's a free sample in it for you if this ladybug thing works out."

She grinned back. "Now you're talking."

Carol was gonna kill him. He could see that from a mile off.

***

There was no fucking way on earth that Jim was going to pay anybody for a bucket of ladybugs. But his plants were dying and he was going to try anything to not have a repeat of grade eight, so it was a good thing he was a gifted delegator.

"Sulu. Chekov. Your day has come."

They both saluted. Chekov was standing at attention so rigidly he was kind of bent backwards.

"This is very important, so there's a pack of smokes each in it for you if you manage not to fuck this up. Also I might say hello to you in public once as a reward for good service. I haven't decided yet, so no promises."

"You can count on us, J-Rock," said Sulu.

"Don't fucking call me that. Okay, no deal on the talking to you in public. Don't speak again or you don't get the smokes either." Jim handed them each a margarine container with a lid on. "Fill these with ladybugs. Then bring them to me. Make sure the lids are on."

"Ladybugs? The red things with the dots?" Sulu asked, taking his container.

"This one isn't clean," said Chekov, peering inside his.

"So clean them first," said Jim. "Get it done. Today. Try that field west of the park. Should be lots there."

"The one with all the thistles?"

"Yes."

"How are we supposed to catch the bugs to get them in the containers?"

"Use stealth," Jim suggested, and then walked away before they could ask any more questions. "Today," he repeated over his shoulder, digging his smokes out of his back pocket.

They were probably going to fuck it up somehow. That was what Sulu and Chekov did. But after a while the baby birds had to be shoved forcefully out of the nest. If they broke their necks instead of flying, well, that was nature.

***

_"There were more thistles in that field than we remembered there being."_

_"No, I told you there were that many. Fuck, my arm is all red."_

_"Stop scratching, man, the thorns will dig in more. Yeah, so we got all Jim's ladybugs or whatever."_

_"They're mostly ladybugs."_

_"The field was kind of wet and full of grass pollen, and it took like, hours, but we got pretty good at catching them. Jim was right about the stealth. Also, I think after a while they were eating the aphids that kept getting stuck in Pavel's hair, so we could just pick them off his head."_

_"I found the one good thing about curly hair."_

_"There's another one! Behind your ear!"_

_"Get it get it get it; where's the container? Be quick when you open and close it, I think they're mad!"_

_"Yeah, they really want out of the tubs."_

_"I put a stick in there but they didn't seem too impressed."_

_"Think they're all girls?"_

_"What?"_

_"The ladybugs. Because I think I saw two of them humping and I don't think there are lesbian bugs."_

_"The fuck do you know, you're not a bug scientist like Carol Marcus. Come on, let's go get our smokes from Jim."_

***

Jim could not even put into words how relieved he was to get his first crop in and sold.

"Gary said it's a hit at the prison," he said as he counted out Bones' share of the profits and handed it over.

Bones contemplated the wad of twenties and peeled off three before stashing the rest in the saltines box in his cupboard. "Not surprised. Prison weed is fucking awful."

"Hellooooo," trilled someone from outside, hammering on the screen door. Jim caught a glimpse of cherry-red hair and went to open the door for Gaila.

"To what do I owe the honour?" he asked as she leaned up and kissed his cheek before drifting inside. Her neon bra straps had slid out from under the straps of her leopard-print blue dress.

"I hear you've harvested," she said. "You still holding?"

"I always keep a stash for friends and family, the hell do you take me for?" Jim demanded. He opened the little cupboard above the stove and dragged out the baggie he kept his own stash in. "Bones, where's your coffee grinder? Let's do this shit up right."

An hour later, they were watching Family Guy and Jim wasn't following the plot very well, when Gaila suddenly said, "Jimmy, you need a vacation."

He raised his head off of her lap and blinked at her. "Vacation?"

"You get so obsessed with the growing and you're all tense and shit. Get out of here for a while and just like, chill out. Hey, come to Halifax and see my sister with me! She misses you."

Jim sat up and stretched his neck. "I can't leave, I gotta, the 'ponics."

She made a disgusted noise. "They'll be fine for like a weekend or whatever, babe. Get Scotty to babysit them. Come on," she whined.

"I'm going to Moncton on Friday for a week to see my ma," Bones piped up. "Taking the bus."

That meant Jim could take the car. He thought about it.

"You work so hard," Gaila said in his ear.

A weekend in Halifax did sound pretty good. "I need to get Scotty and Sulu and Chekov all trained on how to deal with the plants," he said. She grinned and licked his ear.

***

Jim didn't know what day it was, but it was morning, judging by the sun. He blinked and stretched before sitting up. He had no shirt but he did have lots of rugburn. Two people were sleeping on the couch to his left. There was a bong and most of a two-four of Lucky bottles kind of surrounding the coffee table. He stretched and got up, moving out to the balcony to light up a joint. Gaila joined him at the railing after a few minutes, stealing the joint and looking down at the street three storeys below them.

"Good party," he said.

"Scott throws great fucking parties," she agreed, passing the joint back and exhaling in a stream that vanished into the sky. Something buzzed suddenly in the quiet and she jumped a little, reaching into her bra and pulling out her phone.

"Fucking five missed calls and eight texts, jesus," she said, poking at the screen with her fake nails. Her hair was falling into her face and she looked fucking beautiful, he thought suddenly.

He took another hit on the joint while she listened to her voicemail and was so out of it he didn't know how to react when she suddenly shoved the phone into his ear.

"Listen," she hissed, and he focused on Nyota's voice, tinny and muffled until he lined the phone up with his ear properly.

" _\--e's fucking like, taking over the park, I don't even know. Tyra, what are you--I'm on the phone, just wait a minute! Go look under your bed! Gaila, you guys get your shit together and get your asses back here, Monty can't handle this by himself. Okay? I love you, G. Tell Jim to answer his fucking phone sometimes._ "

"There's another one from Carol, and texts from like everybody," she said when he handed back the phone.

"I think my phone's in the car," he said.

"Car's at Sarah's. We're only like ten minutes from there, though. Want me to get Scott up to drive us back over?"

Jim nodded, pitching the butt of his joint over the railing and watching it spark faintly as it hit the pavement.

***

Jim's phone had blown up, too. Nyota, Carol, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty leaving a message from Chris' phone, which was worrying because Scotty didn't call people. Most of the messages were panicked but from what he could tell, someone named Nero had shown up and was fucking up Jim's park.

"Get your shit," he told Gaila. "We're going back. And text Bones for me."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, hovering around Sarah's doorway.

Jim lit a cigarette. "I'm going to figure out what the fuck is going on in our trailer park and then I'm going to fix it."

***

A familiar tan shitmobile was waiting at the park entrance when Jim and Gaila pulled up.

"I texted Nyota that we were on our way back," said Gaila. "I guess she spread it around."

Marcus' fucking car was blocking the entrance, its stupid twirly light going, so Jim stopped two inches from Cupcake's door, smiling when Cupcake realized he was blocked in. Marcus got out of the car and slammed the driver's side door while Cupcake was still deciding whether to climb across the gear shift or just glare at Jim from his own seat.

"Kirk," said Marcus, swaggering up to Jim's door with his hands on his belt.

"We not allowed back in or what?" Jim asked, nodding at the car blocking him out of the park.

"Normally the answer to that would be yes, since you have no fixed address in this park in the first place," said Marcus, "but you're in luck this time, Kirk, because unfortunately the residents of this park need you and your unique... talents."

"Do tell."

"In the five days since you fucked off wherever you went and Mr. McCoy went to New Brunswick, an element even more unsavoury than yourself has taken up residence in the park. He's living in Leonard's trailer, actually."

Jim glared. "He doesn't fucking own Bones' trailer, so why not just kick his ass out? Why haven't Sulu and Chekov already done that? They're supposed to be looking after the place."

Marcus looked awkward. "He's got a gun."

"I have a gun, you still think you have a bigger dick than me," Jim retorted.

"You're not insane, Jim. Not dangerously."

"Nero's fucking nuts," Cupcake interjected, hanging out his open window. "He waves that gun around like it's his free pass everywhere."

Jim sighed. There was a headache building between his eyes. So much for his vacation relaxing him. "So you want me to take out the trash for you, is that it?"

Marcus' mouth went tight. He looked like someone had asked him to swallow shit.

"Come on, Jim," said Cupcake. "You're the only one who can stand up to this asshole."

Jim kept his eyes on Marcus. "I do this, you owe me," he said. "Any favour I want."

Marcus stared back.

"Marcus," Jim warned.

"Fine. I owe you. Don't make me beg, Jim."

Jim grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Gaila leaned across him, holding an empty Tim's cup out the window. "Throw that out for me, would you, babe?" she said with a wink. Marcus took it by reflex, blinking at it when it was in his hand.

"Move your fucking shitwagon out of my way," Jim barked, waving at the Caprice with Cupcake still in it. Marcus scuttled over to get in the car, shoving the coffee cup at Cupcake before driving off, taking the turn back to their trailer.

Jim blew out a long breath. "I'm dropping you off at home," he said.

"Are you sure?" Gaila asked.

"Who knows how this is going to go down? You want to be safe."

He wound his way through the park and neither one of them said anything until he coasted to a stop in front of her trailer. Nobody seemed to be outside, not even bottle kids.

"I'll look after Nyota and Tyra," she said quietly when she'd grabbed her bag and opened her door.

Jim nodded and watched her go inside before pulling away. Bones' place was two streets over. The drive there was just as quiet. There were no cars in front of Bones' trailer; Jim parked in his usual spot and went inside.

"Jim!" Sulu called from the living room. Jim let the screen door slam shut behind him and walked around the partition to find Sulu and Chekov on the couch, hotplate in front of them on the coffee table, doing hot knives.

"The fuck is this I hear about some asshole squatting in this trailer after you were told to look after the place?" Jim demanded, and then looked around at the pizza boxes and liquor bottles all over the place. "And you call this looking after the place? It's a fucking mess in here. You're lucky I'm not Bones."

"Jim, oh my god, it wasn't our fault! Nero just fucking rolled in here like he owned the place and decided this was his trailer now, and he's got this gigantic fucking piece that he waves around and we couldn't do anything about it and--"

Jim held up a hand and Sulu stopped talking. "Is he here?" he asked.

They both shook their heads. "He leaves us here to like, watch the place or whatever while he goes off and does whatever the fuck it is he does," said Chekov.

"Where's Scotty?"

"Nero kicked him out of his shed. He and his cats are at Chris' place. We heard he's sleeping in the camper."

Jim rubbed at his face. "Does this Nero asshole know about the camper?"

"No! We didn't tell him anything, Jim, we swear!"

"I want to believe that," said Jim.

There was the roar of a car engine outside.

"That's him."

Jim rolled his head around his neck. "Right," he said, and went to the front door.

"Do you have your gun, Jim?" Sulu called.

"I left it with Chris before I went to town," said Jim, throwing the door open and walking out to wait on the porch. A bunch of kids on bikes had gathered in front of Mrs. Peterson's place--Jim thought he saw Tyra in the back of the crowd--and more people were joining them as a red I-Roc came up the road to idle in front of the trailer, blaring Dre from the stereo. The door opened and the guy who got out had a shaved head and a black leather jacket over a wifebeater and black jeans. A chrome-plated piece was stuck in the front of his jeans, and when he straightened up and stared Jim down, his crazy eyes were visible even from that distance.

He had a facial tattoo like fucking Mike Tyson, which was basically the last straw as far as Jim was concerned.

"Who the fuck are you?" Nero demanded, walking over to the porch. He'd left his door open and his car running, and Jim hoped someone would just steal the fucking thing but nobody on the road was moving. This asshole had them scared and this was _Jim's park_. Jim stood at the top of the stairs and crossed his arms so that his biceps stood out, not letting Nero get past him.

"You don't know my name then you don't deserve it," said Jim. "Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you in my trailer park?"

"I'm Nero, and you can fuck off away from my goddamn trailer."

"This trailer isn't yours and you don't pay the fees for it. That's breaking and entering."

"You gonna call the cops on me?" Nero asked, hand on his gun.

"You'd be lucky if I did," said Jim.

The gun came out. Nero held it up like he was admiring it, making sure the shiny barrel caught the sun for Jim's benefit. "You're lucky I didn't gun your ass down as soon as I got out of the car for trespassing on my property."

"Is that even loaded?" Jim asked. "It's not loaded, is it? I mean, you'd shoot your nuts off, for starters."

A laugh came from somewhere across the road but cut off fast.

Nero glared at Jim, walked up the stairs into Jim's personal space and waved the gun under Jim's nose. "You wanna find out if it's loaded?"

"Yes," said Jim. "Let's find out if it's loaded."

It had seemed quiet before, but now everything was silent beyond Nero's heavy breathing. Jim kept staring down his crazy eyes.

Nero backed off half a step.

"Well?" Jim asked, and the adrenaline rush kicked in. He reached out fast, grabbed the hand with the gun in it, and yanked until the barrel was pressing cool against his forehead. It did wonders for his headache. "Pull the fucking trigger. Go ahead. Everybody's watching."

The crazy eyes had an edge of fear to them now. Jim grinned.

"Never won Russian Roulette before, Nero?" Jim asked. "Come on. You gonna wave a gun around, you should be able to use it. And if you can't put your fucking money where your mouth is, then _get the fuck out of my trailer park._ "

Nero pulled against Jim's grip on his hand and finally yanked his arm free. Jim got one last glare before the gun went back in the front of his pants and he stalked back over to his car. "What the fuck are you looking at?" he yelled at the crowd. "Fuck off, I got work to do." He burned rubber on the road before peeling out; Jim watched him go.

The screen door creaked behind him. "That was hard as a motherfucker," said Sulu.

"Thanks," said Jim.

"You're fucking crazy, Jim."

"Only sometimes," said Jim, looking at the crowd still standing around staring at him. "Show's over," he called. "Get lost." He didn't stop to see if they listened; Bones' couch and whatever hash the Wonder Twins hadn't already knifed was calling to him, so he pushed past Sulu and went back inside.

Chekov was standing in the kitchen, wringing his hands. "You think he'll be gone for good?"

"If he has any fucking sense," said Jim.

***

_"Of course it's fucking loaded. This gun, this is my signature. My dad gave it to me in grade nine, after my first stint in juvie. I never need to say anything when I show up somewhere to deal with some motherfucker, this gun says it all for me. This bitch is like, hand me my gun, it's the one that says 'bad motherfucker' on it. Safety's always off. It's always ready to go."_

***

Everybody left Jim alone until after dinner, so he was able to sit around watching TV and supervising Sulu and Chekov cleaning up the trailer. Around seven, as Mike Holmes was yelling at someone about their shitty water-damaged insulation on the TV, there was a knock on the screen door. Jim ditched the remote on the couch and hauled himself up, wondering if he'd ordered pizza earlier and forgotten; he half-hoped that was it.

It was Scotty.

"Since when do you knock and stand outside?" Jim asked.

"We wanted to thank you for getting rid of that tattooed prick," said Scotty.

"We?" Jim echoed, and then he stuck his head outside. Half the park was standing at the base of the stairs.

Jim hid inside the trailer again and pressed his face into the door frame. "Seriously, man?"

"It was a brave thing you did, Jim," said Scotty gravely.

"He wasn't even from the park!" yelled someone in the crowd.

"Just, just come out and let them thank you, eh?" Scotty looked nervous. "Maybe put a shirt on, too."

Jim found his shirt on the back of a kitchen chair and hauled it on as he went outside. A cheer went up from the crowd and he accepted a back-slapping hug from Scotty before hopping the stairs.

It was like a love-in; he was surrounded by shoulder claps and hugs and handshakes and grateful smiles.

"That was scary shit man, I was there. You're insane but sometimes that's what you need, you know?"

"Heard you pistol-whipped him with his own stupid gun, man, that is some hard shit."

"--Not even from the park, man. Can't believe that fucking asshole."

"--Like tuna, right? I made a casserole. I worry you don't eat enough."

"You're never allowed to leave town again."

"Got any weed, man? Can I have like, a dime bag? Except all I have is loonies and toonies, sorry."

Carol was near the back of the crowd, when it had thinned out a little. Jim smiled to see her. "Still here?"

"Leaving pretty quick, actually," she said, shaking her car keys. "I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you properly, since my dad is never going to. But he does owe you that favour, and you make sure you collect, okay?" She glanced around. "You seem to be pretty important to this park, no matter what he says."

Jim paused, turning that over in his head. "Your dad?" he said slowly. Favour? Who owed him a favour? Then the penny dropped. "Fuck!" he shouted. "Your dad! Marcus is your _dad_?"

Carol winced. "I--"

"Oh my god." Jim dug both hands through his hair, trying not to have a meltdown. "You didn't tell him about the tomatoes, did you?"

"No!" she blurted, waving both her hands and shaking her head. " _No_ , Jim, I didn't--I would never--"

He looked at her, really looked, and saw the panic in her eyes. The thing was, Marcus had no fucking subtlety, so if he'd known about the camper, he'd have been right up on it with like five cops. Jim took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said. "I believe you. Sorry."

"Sorry I kind of... kept that from you."

"I am so fucking glad I never slept with you, shit," he realized out loud.

Carol laughed and took a step closer to kiss him on the cheek. "Like I said, Jim, thanks," she murmured in his ear. Her hands were warm on his elbows and she smelled like flowers; even though she was Marcus' daughter he was still a little sad when she stepped away again.

"Don't forget us back in Toronto," he said.

"Never gonna happen. See you around, Jim. Tell Bones I'm sorry I missed him," she said, waving over her shoulder as she made her way over to that rental Honda and drove out of Jim's life again.

Yeah, she'd have killed him.

***

_"I did extend my visit this time, yeah. I haven't seen my dad in a couple years and I realized I missed him, and the park. There are good people here. And good pot, of course. I live in Toronto, you can't get good pot there. Makes me feel like I'm nineteen again._

_"I really didn't say anything to my dad about Jim's grow op. It's pretty much harmless. Anyway, my dad kind of picks on Jim and I don't think Jim really deserves it, so I might as well do my part to keep him off Dad's radar. I think his assistant Randy's buying Jim's stuff though."_

***

Jim turned around, thinking of going back to _Holmes on Homes_ and maybe that casserole Mrs. Peterson had made, but pretty much every thought was knocked out of his head by the force when Tyra ran into his legs.

"Oof," he said, peeling her arms from around his middle before she squeezed him into two pieces, at which point he had no choice but to pick her up by the hips and dump her over his shoulder.

"Jim!" she wailed, laughing and smacking him in the middle of his back.

"This is the start of my signature piledriver move," he said, using his free arm to hold her legs still and keep her from kicking him. "I saw Stone Cold do this one time." She was almost getting too big for this shit, he thought sadly.

"Watch yourself, Jim, I taught her to sweep the leg," came a voice from behind him, and Jim swung around (listening to Tyra giggle) to face Nyota, looking flawless as usual and standing with her arms crossed.

"We all know Stone Cold is no match for you," Jim agreed, letting Tyra down onto her feet again. She immediately grabbed onto his arm. She was looking up at him adoringly. That face was his kryptonite. "Stop that," he told her. "That face is a weapon."

She grinned. "I'm gonna grow up to be like you, scare people off with just my face."

"That's really scary just to think about."

She bared her teeth at him and then let him go, running off to where Sulu and Chekov were hanging around near the Cutlass.

"Jim," said Nyota, pulling his attention back. She had her own scary face on; Jim distantly wondered why she hadn't just given Nero that look, to chase him off without Jim's help. "Tyra told me all about this afternoon."

"If I'd had a chance to tell her to take a hike--"

She held up a hand. "The fuck did you think you were doing? Sounds like you could have ended up a crime scene today. And I'm not sure you really give a shit."

"I was put on the spot," he said. "People in this park want me to fix all their fucking problems for them, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Knock it off with the martyr shit, Jim," she snapped. "I may not like it but my daughter looks up to you. I will not have you being power washed off of Len's deck in front of her, do you fucking well understand me?"

He'd never seen that look on her face before. He had no idea what to say.

"Next time, okay, please just do yourself and me a favour and call your cop boyfriend to come do his job instead of playing gangsta cowboy." She cleared her throat. "That's all I had to say."

"You think the cops are going to come out and deal with park problems?" Jim demanded. "We look after our own and you know it. You grew up here. They don't give a shit about us."

"Yeah, well, I think that one does. You can't play thug forever, Jim. There's other things to worry about."

Now she just looked tired and sad. Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right," he said. "I know you said I had to clean my shit up or I'd lose her."

"That's not even the issue at this point, Jim, but I appreciate it anyway, I guess." She looked over Jim's shoulder, her ponytail swinging. "What the hell is she doing now?"

Jim looked; Chekov was fighting with his lighter while Tyra and Sulu apparently made fun of him. As Jim watched, Tyra grabbed the lighter out of Chekov's hand, fished her house key out of her pocket and used it to rip off the childproof band. Jim's heart swelled as she lit Chekov's cigarette for him and then pocketed the lighter. Sulu was laughing so hard he fell on his ass on the grass.

"Smokes," Tyra demanded, holding out a hand to Chekov and staring him down. He handed over one and she looked at it and then back up at him.

Without another word, he fished out two more and gave her both. Jim thought he was going to explode with pride.

"Tyra!" Nyota yelled. "I thought you were quitting!"

Tyra froze in the middle of lighting one of her new smokes with the lighter she'd stolen from Chekov. "Mom," she whined.

"You light that goddamn thing and you are grounded for a week, young lady."

Tyra slowly took the cigarette out of her mouth as Nyota marched over to her.

"Hand them over."

The cigarette and the lighter got handed over with the most sulking Jim had ever seen.

"The ones in your pocket, too."

"But Mom."

"Don't you 'but Mom' me, Tyra Solange. We're going to the store tomorrow and buying you some patches. Now get your butt home and do your reading homework."

Jim watched silently as Tyra forked over all of her hard-won smokes and shuffled off down the road.

Chekov was eyeing the smokes and lighter in Nyota's hands. "Um," he said. "Can I--"

"You don't need them either," she snapped. "What are you, like fifteen?" She handed it all to Jim, who promptly lit one.

Nyota sighed and rubbed at her forehead. "And don't fucking give her any more, Pavel. Who the hell lets an eleven-year-old girl smoke, anyway?" Jim honestly thought she was going to slap Chekov upside the head for a minute.

"Want some grass?" Jim asked her, once it seemed like Chekov was going to be safe. "We did have a deal."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah, okay."

He nodded up the porch steps and led her into the trailer. Mike Holmes had turned into some show about mansions, and he decided to find Storage Wars when he had the place to himself again. "Bud, shake or both?" he asked, going for his cupboard to pull out his stash, which Nero had apparently found but not gotten very far into.

"I don't smoke it anymore," she said. "Shake is fine."

Jim nodded, reaching back for the bag of shake he'd put aside for her. "If you make lasagna again, I want some," he said seriously.

She snorted. "All right, all right." After a second of chewing on her lip, she said, "Thanks, Jim," and left him with a light touch on the arm.

Thanks for what, he wasn't too sure. He yelled out through the screen door for Sulu and Chekov to go loiter somewhere else, scooped out some casserole, and settled down in front of the TV again.

***

Jim woke up facedown on the couch cushions; it was the next day and someone was knocking on the frame beside the front door. It was a cop knock; he sat up so fast he almost fell on the floor and looked around the room wildly. The ziplock bag of weed and the joint he'd rolled but hadn't gotten around to smoking both went behind the arm of the couch, next to the wall and out of sight of the door. There wasn't much else to tidy; he rubbed at his face and stood up, making it to the door just as the cop knocked on the frame again.

"I'm up, I'm up, Jesus," he said as he opened it and found himself face to face with Constable Grayson.

Grayson seemed to straighten up even more, hands behind his back. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kirk."

"Yeah," said Jim, blinking. "Did you get another fucking call about cars backfiring or something? Because I just got back to town yesterday and I was asleep."

"I apologize for waking you," said Grayson. "I am not here to investigate a disturbance."

"Okay." Jim leaned against the door frame, letting the door close behind him and block Grayson's view of the inside of the trailer. He had no idea what was going on. Grayson hadn't heard about his operation, had he? Jim wondered for a second if he was there to buy weed or something, but his customers on the force all used a middleman and Grayson didn't seem like the type, anyway. "Is there something else I can help you with, then?" Jim asked finally.

Grayson shifted, maybe a little awkwardly. "I have not seen you around the trailer park recently. I wished to see that you were doing well. Since you are still technically on parole."

Jim grinned. Holy shit. "Holy shit. Are you checking up on me?"

"It is not untoward to take a personal interest in your reintegration into the community. It is in fact an important part of community outreach and grassroots policing."

Jim looked him up and down. He was wearing that dark sweater uniform and making it look sexy. "I appreciate your concern, Constable. And it's Jim."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Jim. Nobody calls me Mr. Kirk except judges."

"Jim," Grayson conceded.

"I think it would be an important step in your community outreach initiative if we were on a first-name basis with each other," Jim pushed.

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. So what's your name?"

Grayson looked like a trap had just sprung around him. Oh, he had no idea. "My name is Spock," he admitted finally. "I would appreciate if you did not call me that around other members of the community."

Jim was so glad he'd come back to the park early. "Oh, it'll be our secret. Spock."

Yep, that was definitely a blush he had going on there. Jim would have invited him in if the trailer was clean. He wondered for a second if cop car makeouts were on the table. Maybe he'd pushed things far enough for one day.

Then he remembered what Nyota had said the day before. "Spock," he said, and felt a little thrill when Spock's head snapped up at the sound of his name. "You heard of a guy named Nero? Shitty face tattoos?"

"You are asking if he has priors? I can investigate." Spock paused. "Should I ask why you wish to know?"

"Better not," suggested Jim.

Spock went back to his car to check his little computer; Jim went to sit on the steps, wishing for a cigarette, but Spock was done his checking before Jim had time to get up again and go find the half-pack he had lying around.

"The man you know as Nero has a few juvenile incidents, as well as one armed robbery and two minor drug convictions as an adult. He also has an outstanding warrant for possession of an unregistered firearm." Spock joined him on the stairs. "I am going to ask one more time why you wished to know this information."

"It's kind of a non-issue at this point," said Jim. "Just curious, really. He might, uh, be around the area though. Keep an eye out."

"I will pass this information along to the detachment," Spock assured him solemnly.

"You ever have time off, Spock?" Jim asked, staring at an oil spot on the grass.

"It is required by law that I do."

That almost sounded like humour. Jim smiled at the oil spot. "If you ever need a way to spend it, you know where to find me," he said casually.

Spock was silent for long enough for Jim to regret even saying that as casually as he had. Jim glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and saw him lick his lips reflexively before he spoke. "I will take that under advisement." Spock stood up, brushing his ass off. "Stay out of trouble, Jim," he said without looking back.

Jim went and found his cigarettes instead of watching Spock drive away this time.

***

_"I have been employed by the RCMP for five years. My first posting was in Yellowknife. It was there that I learned the value of personal connection in community law enforcement; Yellowknife and the area around Sunnyvale Trailer Park are not altogether different in socioeconomic demographics, nor in the nature of the criminal offences perpetuated in the community. For that matter, I spent my childhood in Ottawa and there are some neighbourhoods in that region which are again very familiar. Geography is not a factor in policing in this country, in my opinion; people are very much the same everywhere. That is not to say that I have not become somewhat partial to the local population at my new posting. As a matter of fact, I find that I very much appreciate the personal integrity found among the residents of this park, irrespective of their criminal records. My father would likely say that my empathy for the populace interferes with my ability to perform my function as a police officer._

_"My father is highly placed in the RCMP. After my posting in Yellowknife was completed, I had an opportunity to return to Ontario and take a position higher up in the force but I chose to accept a posting in Nova Scotia instead. I find that although people like my father have a great deal of power over policy decisions and administration of law enforcement in Canada, I personally prefer policing at the local level. Citizens take on a degree of... facelessness... the further one moves from the streets. I have come to feel, over the course of my career, that a lack of personal engagement with the people you are tasked to protect is detrimental to the goals of law enforcement._

_"Upon deeper acquaintance with several members of the Sunnyvale community, however, I am beginning to feel the strain placed upon me by my enforced separation from these people. Perhaps my father was not entirely incorrect in his warnings about emotional attachment to the community I am supposed to be policing."_

***

Bones made it back from Moncton late in the afternoon; Jim took the car to pick him up at the bus depot, and Bones waited until they were idling in line at the Tim's drive-thru to address the elephant in the car.

"So I hear some thug asshole tried to move into my home," he said, staring out the window at the traffic.

Jim inched forward in the line. Whoever was sitting up at the window had apparently bought every fucking donut in the place. Or had ordered a sandwich. Jim wondered how Tim Hortons stayed in business with how long it fucking took them to make a Turkey Bacon Club. "He's gone, I dealt with it," he said. "He managed to find the bit of weed I had left behind in the kitchen, but I don't think he got into your cash stash. Probably thank Scotty for that." He paused. "Think we should get him some timbits? That might be a nice thank you. He loves those chocolate ones with the icing sugar all over them."

"You already ordered coffee, it'll be another half an hour if you ask for anything at the window. They can't fucking handle more than one thing at a time here," said Bones. "So what the fuck did you do to this guy? Is there a body in my flowerbeds?"

"You don't have flowerbeds," said Jim, creeping forward again. Finally, the asshole in the Escalade at the front was done ruining everyone else's day. "I dealt with it, okay? He left. Turned out he was all talk."

Bones was staring at him. Jim kept facing forward, kept his face neutral. "Fine," said Bones eventually. "Thanks."

Jim nodded and they didn't say anything else until they were at the window. "Which one's the triple-triple?" he asked the lady staring down at him.

"There's a T on the lid," she said. "That comes to $4.02."

"Cash," said Jim, digging into his pocket for change.

"Four dollars. Have a nice day." She didn't sound like she meant it.

"You too," said Jim, mostly to himself, as he pulled out onto the road again. "So Moncton was good?"

Bones grunted into his coffee.

"How's your ma?"

"She's good. Asked if you violated your parole yet."

"Only six months to go!" Jim raised his triple-triple in celebration. "Glad you're back, Bones."

"No place like home," Bones muttered.

***

"Are you sure this is going to work, Jim?" Bones asked.

"Of course it's going to work. Why the hell are you always doubting my ability to commit crimes?" Jim muttered, juggling the box in his arms. The wrapping paper crinkled.

"Haven't you two made enough money on the tomatoes to just _pay_ for meat?" Scotty asked from behind his own stack of boxes.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen the price of meat these days, Scotty?" Jim asked. "Just shut up and be cool." He led the way to the meat coolers. "Okay, Scotty, stand right there and block the sightlines," he said, opening the hidden flap on his gift box and grabbing packages of hamburger.

"Don't get the steaks," said Bones, loading his box one-handed while he balanced his drink in the other, "they look like shit."

"Well, get some of the pork chops, then," said Jim, reaching for a roasting chicken. He glanced around. Some grandma was watching them carefully from behind her cart but they seemed to be okay for the moment. "Okay, I think I'm loaded up. Bones, bacon. Don't forget bacon." Just in time; there was a manager in an apron coming their way.

"Time to roll out," said Jim, hefting his wrapped gift box full of meat. "Move with purpose, boys."

"Wait," said Scotty, stopping at the chuck roasts. "I promised the kitties some of these!"

"Scotty, there's no time," said Jim, looking over his shoulder. The manager had stopped at a wall phone and was looking right at them. He looked the other way on a hunch; nobody yet but he heard the loud footsteps of store security. Scotty was struggling to cram a chuck roast into his gift box; Jim and Bones flanked him.

"Scotty," Jim hissed.

"It's stuck," Scotty muttered back, shoving at it. The styrofoam tray cracked and the roast disappeared into the box. Scotty straightened, stumbling for a second under the weight of his box, and then started hurrying for the door. Jim swore and went after him, Bones trailing behind and probably spilling rye on the floor.

The security guard was waiting for them at the end of the freezer aisle; they split up to dodge around him. "These are wrapped gifts that we brought in with us and you're not entitled to look inside them and you know it," Jim announced loudly as the security guard reached for his arm and missed, spinning in place as Jim breezed past him. "We did not find what we are looking for and we are now leaving the store, goodbye!"

Scotty was kind of moving at a shuffling run at this point; Bones had his box of bacon and porkchops under his arm and was ambling along on Jim's right, sipping at his drink. Jim snorted when Scotty got to the automatic doors and almost ran into them before they opened and let him escape to the outside.

"Free! I'm free!" Scotty yelled from the parking lot. Jim and Bones picked up the pace a little and waved cheerfully at the store manager as they headed outside to the car.

"Does store property include the parking lot, you know, jurisdictionally?" Bones asked as Scotty popped the trunk open ahead of them.

"You wanna hang around and clarify that, go ahead," said Jim. "I'm taking this meat home."

***

"Hamburger," Jim announced as he walked into Nyota and Gaila's trailer with the rest of his box. He'd already stopped at Chris' place with the chicken and bacon.

"You are fucking determined to get that lasagna, aren't you?" Nyota said, walking out of the kitchen with a dish towel in her hands.

"Yes," he agreed, walking past her to drop the box on her counter. "There's some porkchops and stuff in here, too."

"Did you pay for any of that?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

She sighed loudly. "I don't want your stolen meat."

"I never said I stole it. Maybe I know a guy. A butcher. And I trade him bud for bacon."

"Is that what we're going with?"

"It is."

"Fine. Thank you." She even leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Your mom came by looking for you."

"What did she want?"

"Didn't ask. She said she was going to Chris' for dinner."

"I was just over there. Probably delivering dinner."

Nyota shrugged. "Just go see what your mom wants. It can't be that bad."

"You can say that because she likes _you_ ," Jim muttered, but he left. Bones had the car, something about plans with Christy, so Jim hiked it back over to Chris' trailer, cutting through some yards. One of Scotty's cats started following him after a few minutes, probably smelling the bacon on him or something.

"I thought Scotty got you assholes a chuck roast to eat," Jim told the cat, which curled around his legs and did its best to look adorable. "We went to a lot of trouble for that thing, go eat it."

The cat meowed at him, and Jim kept walking. At least he could check his plants while he was back over here, maybe even score some dinner if he could tolerate his mom long enough.

They were eating at the picnic table in the backyard when he got there; he slouched over to them, hands in his pockets, and stopped next to his mom. She smiled up at him.

"Jamie," she said.

"Want a beer, son?" Chris asked, moving to get off the bench. Jim waved him back down.

"I'm fine," he said, and sat down in Chris' vacant wheelchair, spinning the wheels idly as he stared down his mother. "You were looking for me. Here I am," he said.

"Yes, god forbid your own mother want to see you sometimes," said Winona crisply. She took a swig of her Coors Light. "You keeping your nose clean?"

Jim shrugged. "Parole's not done yet."

She gave the camper in the back corner of the yard a significant look.

"You wanna say something, say it," Jim suggested.

"Probably shouldn't talk to your mother that way," said Chris to his plate.

"Probably not," Jim agreed.

"It's fine, Chris. Look, Jamie, I know you're growing and selling again. I hear it's going pretty well."

"You hear that? Where'd you hear it?" Chris had probably told her, but Jim was feeling like being a shithead at the moment.

"Doesn't matter where," she said, setting her beer down and turning on the bench to face him. "After all that shit with Nero, you're staying low-key I hope."

"I thought I was lower-key than I apparently am."

She frowned. "I worry."

"Well, don't." Jim got out of the wheelchair. "Is that all? Or did you want a dime bag? I guess you can have the family discount."

She looked awkward. "I wouldn't mind," she admitted.

"Uh huh. Go talk to Gaila. Dime bag's a 'colour wash'." He made air quotes. "I'm going to go check my setup and then I'm going to leave. I have plans tonight."

"What kind of plans?" she asked.

"Private ones," he said loudly, making his way over to the camper and unlocking the door.

***

_"What plans was I talking to her about? Do I need to explain to you what 'private' means? Fuck off."_

***

When Jim got to the movie theatre that night, Spock was standing next to the front door, arms crossed. He still looked three hundred percent like a cop even in normal clothes. Jim couldn't help smiling at that and he refused to think about how fucked this probably meant he was.

"Hey," he said casually when he was close enough. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Hello."

"Get tickets yet?"

"No, I was waiting for you."

"Wondering if I'd show up?" Jim teased.

"No," said Spock, but there was a little hesitation that made Jim think he'd hit closer to the truth than he'd meant to.

He shrugged. "Well, I'm here. Let's do this thing."

"I appreciate your agreeing to join me this evening. I rarely have interest in movies but this one sounded very appealing."

"I had nothing else going on, and I meant it about the free time thing," said Jim as he pushed the theatre door open and held it for Spock. "I should have known you were a nerd, wanting to see a superhero movie."

"My childhood reading, of which there was a great deal, consisted primarily of the classics but my mother used to buy me comic books, on occasion." Spock smiled a little, apparently to himself.

Jim wondered what it would be like to have a parent who cared about more than keeping you alive. "Sounds like she was a pretty cool mom."

"She was an English professor," said Spock. "Her favourite course was one about narrative themes in _Star Wars_."

Now Jim was smiling too, taking in the wistful look on Spock's face before he cleared his expression suddenly. "We will use the automated ticket kiosk," said Spock. "It is faster."

Jim had no debit card because he didn't have a bank account. He flicked a glance toward the line for buying tickets from a human and Spock must have caught it because he said, "I am going to pay for your admission. As thanks for your accompaniment."

Jim thought about objecting, but Spock had a look on his face like he had prepared several arguments in case Jim tried. "All right. Thanks."

***

_"I do not consider it inappropriate fraternization to spend my social time with Jim. Any time he is spending under supervision from a responsible, law-abiding adult is time he cannot spend perpetrating a minor felony. I was under the impression that parole officers took more of an interest in their charges, however I am not confident Jim has even seen his for the required meetings in the past several months._

_"Whether I think Jim has been committing crimes is irrelevant, because I have not responded to any scenes where he was a suspect. Due process should always be respected, and while the RCMP does perform investigative work in some criminal circumstances, my primary role in our district is as liaising officer with the community of Sunnyvale Trailer Park. There are other officers in the detachment whose responsibilities are more suited to complex investigations. I fulfill the tasks of my position quite adequately."_

***

The superhero was just going through his self-doubt stage when Jim heard a buzzing noise and Spock stood up suddenly, ducking his extremely tall way along the row and down the stairs in the white light from the screen. Jim watched him go and spent a moment debating whether to follow. Maybe the buzzing noise had been someone else's phone. Maybe Spock was just going to the bathroom.

Jim had just decided to sit and wait and watch the movie when his own phone started ringing in his pocket. The screen said it was Bones.

He got a terrible sinking feeling. Approximately half the theatre glared at him as he got up to follow Spock out, his phone still ringing insistently in his hand.

"What?" he answered it as he hit the door back into the theatre lobby.

"Where the fuck are you?" Bones demanded. His rage sounded tinny through Jim's shitty phone speaker. "Took you long enough to answer."

"I'm out," said Jim. "Did something happen?"

"Something is still happening. It's happening right now and it's over at Chris' trailer with a giant fucking gun."

Jim looked up and saw Spock in the quiet back corner of the theatre lobby, already walking back over to Jim as he fiddled with a phone or something.

"I'm coming back to deal with it," said Jim before hanging up on Bones.

"I have received a call," said Spock, holding up a pager. "At Sunnyvale."

"Can I come back with you?" Jim asked. "I took the bus here."

Spock hesitated.

"Please," said Jim.

***

Riding in the front of a cop car was an exciting experience, or it would have been if not for the anxiety chewing up Jim's stomach. His phone was blowing up with messages and none of them were good.

"Drop me at Bones' trailer," he asked quietly.

"Do you know where the situation is occurring?" Spock asked, never looking away from the road. He drove with his hands at ten and two, because of course he did. He hadn't stopped to put his uniform on when he swapped his usual ride for his cruiser at the station, but he had his badge, gun and a vest and radio on. It all looked kind of goofy with a polo shirt and Dockers or whatever the hell those pants were he was wearing.

"Chris' place. Do you have any more guns besides that one?" he asked. "And is that vest bulletproof?"

"It is a stab vest, and no, this is the only weapon I have signed out at this time."

"Please don't get shot," said Jim, and he didn't say anything else because they'd pulled up at Bones' trailer. He practically tripped and fell out of the passenger side and turned back to get another look at Spock, but he couldn't see anything but darkness inside the car, because Spock had the light rack going and it was too bright. Spock might have been looking back, though, because there was a pause between Jim's slamming the door and the car pulling away down the road with a crunch of gravel.

Jim shook himself and met Bones in the doorway.

"The fuck was that?" Bones demanded.

"This is not the time," said Jim. "Where'd you put the bag?"

"You mean--"

"Yes, the bag. And fill me in on the details while we load up."

"It's around behind the deck," said Bones, leading the way through the grass. Scotty's shed was dark as they passed it, although Jim thought he heard a tiny meow.

"Where's Scotty?"

"He went to Chris' trailer earlier about something or other."

Jim stopped walking. "He's still--"

"Yep." Bones kept going until he came to a fallen-down piece of the shit-brown plywood skirting that went around his trailer. He picked it up by the edge and flipped the whole piece up to lean against the hole it had left under the trailer, then pointed at the flat, dying grass he'd just revealed.

"It's under here."

Jim tilted his head at the spot; it looked like it hadn't been disturbed since they'd buried the bag. Bones was amazing at hiding things when he really wanted to. It was his gift and Jim's curse.

"Shovel?" Jim asked.

Bones shrugged.

Jim sighed and jogged back over to the shed, where Scotty had left a shovel that seemed to have had its broken handle replaced by one off a broom. Regardless, the ground was still soft and it didn't take much digging to hit something solid. Bones got down on his knees and fished the dirt-encrusted handles of the hockey bag out of the hole, then stood up and yanked.

"Fuck, my back," he groaned, letting go and falling on his ass on the ground as Jim finished yanking it free. It was heavier than he remembered. The word 'Cooper' had almost completely eroded off the side but the bag itself, although dirty and kind of damp, was still in one piece. Jim zipped it open and relied on night vision and the streetlight behind the trees to look through the insides.

"Think the ammo's still good?" he asked, pulling out a rifle and passing it to Bones before checking the slide on a handgun and stuffing it into the back of his waistband.

"We got no other options, so it better be," said Bones, pulling the submachine gun out by its stock. "Where did you even get this?"

"I knew a guy," said Jim. "Hurry up. And call Sulu and Chekov; we need backup."

"They'll shoot their fucking nuts off."

"That's fine, it's not fatal. As long as they hit what they're aiming for at least once, I don't care what parts of themselves they shoot off."

"I'm calling, I'm calling," said Bones, digging his phone out of his pocket and wandering away into the yard.

Jim waited a moment and then dug out his own phone to call Nyota and Gaila.

***

_"I have attended some disturbance calls in my career that have required a great deal of paperwork to resolve, but the incident at Christopher Pike's home was possibly the most dangerous I have ever seen. The manner in which the residents of the park responded to the aggressor in their midst was legally ill-advised but, I have to say, admirable. I do not say that as a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, however. The force would disagree with that assessment, officially."_

***

"Do you have a fucking plan, here, Jim?" Bones asked as they piled into the Cutlass, Sulu and Chekov in the back. Jim had put all the guns in the trunk until they got to Chris' place; no way was he going to give either of those fucking idiots a loaded gun in the back of Bones' car. He wasn't positive they wouldn't piddle on the seats in their excitement, as it was.

Jim kept glaring out the passenger side window, into the dark. Everybody's lights were out. "My plan is to kick this asshole out of here. Permanently."

"Holy fuck, Jim, are you going to cap him?" Sulu asked.

"No, he's not," said Bones, in the same tone he used when his daughter was being a little shit.

"If that's what it takes," said Jim, overtop of him.

Bones actually stopped the car to glare at him. "Jim," he said, still using that tone.

"Leonard," said Jim. "You want me to drive?"

"You're not going to kill him, even if he is a fucking asshole."

"It was your trailer he moved into! You want him to keep pushing the fucking envelope? Or do you want him to know his place?"

"I want you to stay the fuck out of fucking prison!"

There was a long silence. Jim broke their staring contest first. "Drive," he said quietly, stealing a long sip from the rye and coke on the dashboard before going back to looking out his window.

He could feel Bones glaring at the side of his head a little longer before the car started moving again.

"Stop and pull over here," said Jim, around the corner from Chris' trailer. "Just use the MacDonalds' driveway, they're in Florida anyway." He got out and opened the trunk as everyone followed him and crowded around his shoulders.

"Sulu and Chekov, get up on somebody's roof with these rifles, you're the backup," he said, pulling them out of the gun pile and passing them back over his shoulder by the stocks.

"What about the rest of us?" said a voice he wasn't expecting to hear, and Jim realized all at once that there were more than three people standing behind him. He turned around slowly.

"What in the fucking fuck are you all doing here? Go home!" he hissed.

Gaila crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow. Cupcake and Marcus and Christy and Phil and Gary and some bottle kids and half the goddamn park stood around her, and none of them looked any more like they planned to listen to Jim than she did. Some of them had thoughtfully brought their own guns.

"Jesus fuck," said Jim, digging his hand through his hair. "You know he's probably got guns too, right?"

"And three assholes following his orders," said Gaila. "Nyota wanted to come too, but she didn't trust Tyra to stay home without someone to watch her. She told me to slap you upside the head but I'll save that for later."

"I only called you to get you to be safe!" Jim snapped, pointing at her. "Did you call everybody?"

"It was sort of a phone tree thing. Everybody's here because they want to be, Jim. It's our park, too. Now are you going to hand me that little pistol I can see in there so I can shoot some dumbasses threatening my friends' lives, or am I going to have to go through you to get it?" Gaila uncrossed her arms and rolled her head around a little like she was all prepared to kick his ass.

Jim recognized a lost fight and handed her the gun as he looked to Marcus. "You here to get all the details before you call my parole officer?" he asked.

Marcus shifted awkwardly. "I owe you a favour. I don't like to let those things go unresolved, Kirk. I'm prepared to admit you're a necessary evil."

"I'm touched," said Jim. "Fine. If you're all prepared to get shot by a tattooed fuckhead, then get locked and loaded while I figure out the plan."

"I might have some ideas," said Gaila, checking her gun like she'd done it before. Jim dimly remembered her saying something about having dated a cop or a drug dealer or something once. He decided he was glad to be on her good side.

"I'm listening," he said.

***

Jim crouched behind a parked car and raised his phone to his ear. "Release the bottle kids."

On cue, six kids with fast bikes and NFL throwing arms rode past Chris' trailer, chucking big glass 40s at the front siding and the deck railing. The exploding glass glittered in the streetlights as the kids took off into the dark again. The screen door banged open as two guys with assault rifles crashed outside, backlit by the hallway lights and squinting into the dark.

"Go," Jim said into his phone, and then he hung up as shots cracked through the dark. Most of them weren't even targeting the guys on the deck; they were shooting out the streetlights. The guys on the deck started yelling into the trailer as the whole street was plunged into darkness and glass rained down onto the concrete and gravel for a one-block radius. Then one of them screamed; someone who'd been shooting at him had gotten a hit. Jim squinted through the dark and saw him clutching his arm. Three seconds later, they started firing blind, random full-auto sprays into the dark. Jim dropped flat on the sidewalk as the windows of the car above him shattered and glass rained down into his hair and clothes. He could faintly hear Chris and Scotty shouting inside the trailer and was glad that apparently the entire rest of the block had found other places to spend their evening once these fucks had shown up.

His phone started vibrating, dancing its way along the concrete next to his arm. He picked it up and saw Spock's name on the screen. Of course.

" _I hear gunfire and the entire block has gone dark,_ " said Spock in a tone that sounded suspiciously close to alarm. " _Is this your doing?_ "

"Not entirely. Where the fuck are you?"

" _I have chosen a vantage point to observe the situation while the backup I have just called for arrives on scene. I suggest you find distant places to be, and quickly._ "

"Love you too, Spock," said Jim. "Remember: don't get shot." He hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket, and peered around the trunk of the car to assess the situation. Both of the guys on the deck were bleeding (easy to see on their douchey white track suits, even in the dark), and if Jim wasn't mistaken, they were trying to fix a jammed gun. He stood up and fired once, a warning shot over their heads. They looked up.

"Tell Nero to get his ass out here," he shouted.

They returned fire, and he ducked back down behind the car, waiting for the breaks to fire back. He only had three clips on him but it was hard to be accurate in the dark like this.

Jim was sitting on the pavement, leaning up against the car's tire and trying to catch his breath, when he finally heard Nero's voice.

"That you, Kirk?" he shouted across the street. "Back for more? Come say hello; I promise to pull the trigger this time."

"You're too much of a pussy," Jim shouted back, grinning. He felt more charged up than that time he'd done PCP. This was a better rush than armed robbery.

"Come out here and say that," Nero called back. A shot rang out in the dark. "Brought some friends with you, did you, Kirk?" Nero said after a moment.

"So did you," Jim said. "They get your attention?"

Nero laughed. "My friends are better at this. You want everyone to die?"

"Just you."

"Tell me where the weed is, Kirk."

"Go fuck yourself." So Chris and Scotty hadn't said anything and they'd been too fucking stupid to figure out about the Airstream in the backyard. That was good to know.

"Tell me where it is or I kill your friends in that trailer. They're loyal, Kirk. They'll probably die for you. Fucking idiots."

Jim didn't take the bait. His breathing was so loud in his own ears. He'd almost swear Nero could hear it from across the street.

"You knew this was going to happen, Kirk. You can't just bust in on the business. That shit is parcelled out. This is my territory, and your weed is actually my weed." Nero paused. "Give it up now and I'll let you keep ten percent. Maybe we can work out a deal, you keep growing for me."

"You're fucking hilarious," Jim yelled.

"I'm going to kill everybody you love, Kirk. And then I'm going to kill you last."

"Try it, bitch," said Jim, and the street lit up with gunfire. A lot of it seemed to come from Jim's side of things, although the car he was leaning against rocked with bullet impacts. He took a deep breath and took his chance, using the shadows to roll to his feet and run, low, into the cover of someone's side yard. His heart thundered through his ears as he looped around the block in the dark, coming up through the trees behind Chris' property from the side. Bones met him in the trees, finger to his lips, and gestured into the yard where another white tracksuit stood alone with a nine-mil, peering into the dark.

Bones left him, creeping through the brush pretty silently for someone who hated nature, and soon a shot rang out through the dark from thirty yards ahead of Jim. It missed the thug with the handgun but got his attention, and Jim snaked out of the trees to knock him out with the butt of his own gun. The Airstream sat dark and quiet in front of him. There were twenty budding plants in there. Jim sighed and dug out his lighter.

He was going to deny later that he did it through a haze of tears, but all Jim could say right then was that it was good, maybe, how much of a fire hazard those old campers were. The insulation under the corner of the vinyl siding caught fast, crackling with black smoke, and Jim hopped back as the flames licked up the corner, climbing up to his eye-level in a few seconds. He blinked and turned away from the hissing and crackling, remembering that he was ruining his night vision when there were still fucksticks with guns running around trying to kill him. That was what he kept in mind as he jogged back toward Chris' trailer, while the hissing changed to the pop of a window blowing out and then to a roar. The combined smell of burning weed and melting plastic was filling his nose.

Nero met him beside Chris' deck; Jim flinched away, looking for a weapon, but all of Nero's attention was on the column of fire and smoke in the backyard. It was Scotty crashing through the front door and running to the deck railing that broke his trance.

"Jim!" Scotty hollered, and Jim barely had time to register that Scotty's face looked like hamburger before his air was cut off.

"What the fuck did you just do, Kirk?" Nero snarled into his face. His fucktarded tattoo seemed to dance in the light from the fire.

"Kgrhk," said Jim, and the hand around his neck eased off of crushing his windpipe a little bit.

"It's like the biggest joint you've ever seen," Jim wheezed, and it felt like sandpaper in his throat when he laughed but the look on Nero's face was hilarious.

"Get your fuckin' fiddle out, arsehole!" Scotty yelled from above as Nero hauled off and punched Jim in the face.

Right in the eye. Jim stood upright again carefully, prodding at his eyebrow. His fingers came away wet. He was still giggling compulsively; he might never stop. "Got another one of those in you?"

Nero managed one step toward Jim before Scotty hopped the railing and landed on his back. Scotty was sprawled on the grass a second later, but Jim appreciated the distraction. He shook his head a little to clear it and wondered if he had time to pull the gun out of the back of his waistband before Nero was on him again.

"There's fuck-all here for you, you know," he said, conversationally. He put his fists up a little, waiting, still thinking about the gun pressed cold against the bottom of his spine.

"I said I was gonna kill you," said Nero, putting his own fists back up. "I keep my promises. I've gotta show this park who's boss."

"Like you did last time?"

"Jim!" Bones roared from somewhere in the background, barely louder than the fire. Nero glanced around.

"Ignore that," said Jim, who couldn't even feel the cuts on his face or the burning in his throat anymore. "It's just you and me, bud. Let's fucking go."

"Goddammit, Jim!" Bones hollered again, louder and closer this time, and the night lit up with blue and red flashes as most of the cops in town pulled up on the street out front. There was more yelling and door slamming, and the moment was over. No moves made. Jim lowered his fists and stood up straight again.

"That's the popo," he said. "You lose."

"Fuck off, I got work to do," Nero muttered, breaking and running away.

Bones, Scotty, Gaila, Chris and Spock all converged on Jim almost at once, catching him in a net of angry and concerned faces. Well, Bones was angry. Everyone else looked concerned. Except Spock. Spock looked utterly blank. They were all fucking talking over each other, and through the dull roar in his ears (maybe still the fire), Jim could only focus on what Spock was saying.

"--Property is surrounded. Jim, is that a camping trailer on fire? How did that start?"

"Nero did it," Jim said, waving vaguely in the direction he'd run off in.

"I see." Spock paused, sniffing the air. "It smells like burning marijuana."

"That's weird," said Jim.

Spock uncharacteristically sagged all of a sudden, rubbing at his face. "James Kirk, you are under arrest for violating your parole by being present at the scene of a crime. Multiple crimes. You have the right to remain silent."

Jim nodded and turned around, hands going automatically behind his head, letting Spock finish without listening.

"Possession of a firearm is also a violation of your parole," Spock said in his ear, divesting Jim of the gun still in his waistband.

"Sorry," he said, figuring Spock heard but not really caring even if he didn't. It felt good to say it.

"You can't just arrest him!" Bones was shouting.

"I can and I must," said Spock.

"How long's he going to go back for?" Gaila asked.

"That is not my decision."

Jim looked over his shoulder at the proceedings just in time to see Bones steal the confiscated gun from Spock's hand and fire three shots into the sky.

Two uniformed officers came hauling ass around the corner of the trailer at the noise, and Bones dropped the gun onto the grass and assumed the peaceful arrest position for them without a word.

Jim didn't know what he'd done to deserve friends as good as he'd gotten.

"It is time to go, Jim," said Spock, cuffing him and guiding him by the shoulder back to his cruiser as the other two officers read Bones his rights.

"Yeah," said Jim. "Do me a favour, Spock? Keep an eye on everybody for me."

"I will see what I can do," said Spock, walking him past where three cops had Nero and two of his cronies on their faces on the front lawn. Jim smiled to himself, then winced at the sting in his cheek.

Spock's hand on his head was almost gentle as it pushed him into the backseat of the cruiser.

***

_"It was crazy! The whole thing! Just everybody lighting up like,_ bwom bwom bwom _! Bullets flying all over!"_

_"Sulu got one of those fucks in the shoulder! We were up on the Andersons' roof."_

_"I think that was actually Gaila. She got like two of them. But I heard she used to date like, one of those mafia guys from Montreal."_

_"And then the cops showed up, I haven't seen that many cops since Mrs. Peterson threatened to shoot her husband that one time."_

_"Did you hear? Jim set the weed on fire right in front of Nero to save Scotty and Chris' lives. Then they got in this bare knuckle fight and the cops had to pull them apart."_

_"No fucking way, I was watching. Nero ran like the little bitch he is."_

_"Stupid fuck. We showed him how we do in Sunnyvale."_

_"Dude, he's not even_ from _the park."_

***

_"What? You want to talk about Jamie? He's back in jail. What's to talk about? Oh, well, yes, he does tell me he's getting the GED. Well, he tells Nyota, and Nyota tells me. If he'd gotten his grade twelve the first time around, maybe we wouldn't be going through all this shit. I'm really hoping this is a wake-up call for him, though. My other son, Sam, he's been talking to Jamie a little more since he went back inside. Sam knows some people, he thinks he can help Jamie get a job out west when he gets out, you know, working in the oil patch. It's good money. An honest living, you know? And hard work might keep him out of trouble. I just want him to get his life back on track, get out of this gangster drug hustle he keeps getting caught up in. Maybe he can start over if he gets out of here, goes out to Alberta, away from those friends of his. They're weird out there but they understand a day's work, not like some of the people around here."_

***

_"Yes, I visit Jim and Leonard three to four times a month. It is important for the rehabilitation process to maintain an emotional link between the incarcerated person and the community, to reduce the risk of recidivism. In addition, I have been encouraging him to further his education and create more opportunities for himself. I look forward to the possibility of positive change for him upon his release, and he stands an excellent chance of being paroled again for positive behaviour. I hope that his parole officer is more diligent this time than the one assigned to him previously._

_"I have obeyed Jim's wishes that Sunnyvale be 'looked after' as much as possible under the circumstances. I visit the park occasionally to converse with some of the residents there, and am attempting to secure more permanent housing for Mr. Scott in the future, although currently he is residing in Leonard's trailer for the duration of Leonard's incarceration. Jim will also require some kind of domicile upon their release, preferably something that is not a motor vehicle, and if he does not decide to cohabit with Leonard or Christopher Pike--I understand his mother is out of the question--then I do have a few ideas of my own for his consideration. I am not planning to broach the subject until we are nearer to a possible parole date._

_"I do remember having expressed my doubts about my impartiality in this situation as an officer of the law. I am pleased to say I have reached an amenable moral compromise: I resigned from the RCMP two months ago. My father was less than pleased when I informed him of the decision, although I confess that may have been in part because he was alerted to my resignation paperwork being processed via a third party in the force before we ever spoke about it ourselves. It caused tension between us for some weeks, although we are speaking again. I will, however, be staying in the local area, because I have accepted a position with the Coast Guard._

_"Indeed, I am looking forward to the challenges of the future."_

***

_"Yeah, back in jail. I dunno, it's not so bad. I mean, Bones is here. I've got a clean bed and three meals a day. Scotty, Nyota and Spock bring me news when they visit and Gaila brings me smokes. The weed is still shitty, although they do have some of what I sold them before, uh, the incident, so that's good. The guards are sharing some of that for free, considering, which I think is pretty nice of them. I'm definitely going to take that under consideration when I get out of here and get back into business."_

_"That's gonna be a while, Jim."_

_"If you don't plan ahead, Bones, life will run you over. So I got five years for parole violation, unauthorized possession of a weapon contrary to an order, and they tried to hang drug possession with intent to traffic it off me too but the public defender was just good enough to keep that one from sticking. Bones here got four for discharging a firearm in front of Spock. So we'll both serve like two, two and a half years--which we've done six months of already and it's passed in no time--get paroled again, and Freedom 35 is back in play."_

_"And this time it's going to go so much better, is it?"_

_"It is. Because I know Nero and his crew got ten years apiece for all the weapons charges and assaulting peace officers. Stop rolling your eyes, Bones. Anyway, I've got a plan. I'm almost done getting my GED; did you know they let you do that shit for free in here? It's great. And it counts toward my parole hearing!"_

_"That's the one smart thing you've done, I'll admit."_

_"Yeah, well, you can thank Spock's good influence, I guess. I'm looking at some like, college and university classes after the GED's out of the way. I can take botany. And criminal justice. It's gonna be great."_

_"I can see it now."_

_"And you can take anger management group therapy! Yeah, we're fine. We'll get out in another eighteen to twenty-four months and get back into production, and Spock will be waiting for me, and I hear Christy's waiting for you, big guy. This is gonna be great."_

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you in no particular order to: mdevile, Jillus, Jay Z, lazulisong, sutlers, Mike Clattenburg, my fellow mifus slogging through November, everybody who got all the way to this endnote, everybody still reading it, the people who do the Trek Big Bang challenge every year, coffee, Coffitivity, and every person I know in real life who provided some kind of inspiration for this story, whether they meant to or not.
> 
> This is the most unabashedly Canadian thing I've ever written and I'm pretty proud of that!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Freedom 35 - A JTK Enterprise (Cover)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044295) by [nix_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/pseuds/nix_this)




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